WHO HATH EARS TO HEAR LET HIM HEAR. THE sun doth not the hidden place reveal, TO THE PURE ALL THINGS ARE PURE. THE flowers I pass have eyes that look at me, When he who formed thee, bids it live and play, Thine own companions born for harmony HE WAS ACQUAINTED WITH GRIEF. I CANNOT tell the sorrows that I feel By the night's darkness, by the prison's gloom; There is no sound of grief that mourners raise, The death in Christ to know the Father's love; YE GAVE ME NO MEAT. My brother, I am hungry,—give me food But those who eat of this like thee are dead; THE ACORN. THE seed has started, who can stay it? see, That rose beside it and that on it frowned, That late thou flung away; 'twas the best gift That heaven e'er gave;—its head the low shall lift. |