Page:Roses in Rain, by Lilian Wooster Greaves, 1910.pdf/22



The everlasting miracle is being wrought again. The corns of wheat that, perishing ’neath crumbled clods had lain, Have risen to yield their sixty-fold ; and the bare and sandy plain In happy resurrection smiles, a field of waving grain! Thus many a lonely heart Our Lord hath set apart; Hath called it for His own, Hath had it tilled and sown ; And while for him it yieldeth glad increase, It findeth for itself eternal peace.

But oh! the fairy forest land, which lilce a
 * laughing maid

In flower-embroidered draperies is daintily
 * arrayed—

The trees that stand like stalwart sons—roust