|
|
Waiting
By George MacDonald
Lie, little cow, and chew thy cud,
The farmer soon will shift thy tether;
Chirp, linnet, on the frozen mud,
Sun and song will come together;
Wait, soul, for God, and thou shalt bud,
He waits thy waiting with his weather.
Extra Info:
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 388 times.
|
|
