Contents
| « Prev | Next » |
27
14 Knocking.
Though forsaken and betangled, Ivy-gnarled and weed-bejangled, Dusty, rusty, and forgotten ; — There the pierced hand still knocketh. And with ever-patient watching. With the sad eyes true and tender, With the glory-crowndd hair, — Still a God is waiting there.
| « Prev | Next » |