Verse—Old & New
Harvest. The earth lias language that wo may not hear, A silent language for her God alone. Her words are all the wonders of the year— Tin; snow, the rain. Lite spring wind-petal-blown . . . And now. with arms wide-flung and radiant face, She lifts licr golden heart with glory strewn: 'Lo, of my travail and Thy quickening grace. Giver of all, I give Thee back Thine own.' So in the heart of man a language grows, Sacred, unuttered. wrought in lowly ways; Nurtured by love, and -faith, and deeds of: praise; Ripening slowly to the summer's close. . . . Then lifts mortality its harvest gold: "Lord, hear this language when my lips are cold." —Melfln W. -Tones, in the Western Mail.
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/PBH19370213.2.112
Bibliographic details
Poverty Bay Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19248, 13 February 1937, Page 13
Word Count
120Verse—Old & New Poverty Bay Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19248, 13 February 1937, Page 13
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