Bend to the chastening rod.

I writhe to think I may not bear

The blows, for thine own sake

I can not, tho’ ’tis mine to know

How one small heart can ache.{7}

{7}

In the winds of thy fierce breaking

God grant I never see

Thy flashing spirit sullen,

Or thy lips in mutiny.

But rather child, I’d have thee know

Even as I the rod,

As a tuning fork to bring thy song

Back to the harp of God.

{8}

The Four Winds of Heaven

WHEN I hear the north wind

W

It never fails to bring,

Reminders of for-get-me-nots

 Prev. P 6/70 next