Читать книгу Rampolli - George MacDonald - Страница 19

     Earth’s Consolation, why so slow?

     Thy inn is ready long ago;

     Each lifts to thee his hungering eyes,

     And open to thy blessing lies.

     O Father, pour him forth with might;

     Out of thine arms, oh yield him quite!

     Shyness alone, sweet shame, I know,

     Kept him from coming long ago!