19 January, 2012
19
'Tis well, for unembodied thought a live,
True house to build--of stubble, wood, nor hay;
So, like bees round the flower by which they thrive,
My thoughts are busy with the informing truth,
And as I build, I feed, and grow in youth--
Hoping to stand fresh, clean, and strong, and gay,
When up the east comes dawning His great day.
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Sweet friends, receive my offering. You will find
Below each worded page a white space set:--
This is the mirror of each friendly mind
Reflecting that. In this blog we are met.
Make it, dear hearts, of worth to you indeed:--
Let your white space be ground, my text be seed,
Growing to golden ears, that faith and hope shall feed.