THY life is like a fountain clear, upspringing <br />Beside the weary way I'm treading now; <br />I love to linger near, and feel it flinging <br />Its pure baptism on my fevered brow. <br /> <br />Thy gentle heart is like the couch of resting, <br />That welcomes home the wanderer of the deep, <br />To my tired spirit, weary with long breasting <br />The midnight waves that round about me sweep. <br /> <br />Thy soul is like a silver lake at even, <br />Emblem of power, and purity, and rest, — <br />Within its depths the eternal stars of heaven, <br />While earth's fair lilies float upon its breast.<br /><br />Grace Greenwood<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-miss-a-c-l/
