creation
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The New World
He who made the tree
With leaves that brush the sky
And made the bird of colored breast
On feathered wing to fly
Stopped not Himself to rest
Till you did please His eye.
The bright starry night,
The frost upon the morn,
The solo eagle’s flight,
The glory of the dawn,
Were all mere glints of light
Till you, through yearning, born.
creation.1696003500.txt.gz · Last modified: 2023/09/29 12:05 by david