Читать книгу Pansy's Sunday Book - Группа авторов - Страница 27

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A STALK of tall white lilies

Bloomed out in a garden fair;

Their breath, so sweet and fragrant,

Scented the ambient air.

As Easter day came on apace,

It seemed as if they tried

To grow still sweeter, for the morn

When rose the Crucified.

When dawned the holy Easter tide,

And they were full in bloom,

A sad-eyed woman gathered them

And laid them on a tomb.

And as she knelt in deepest woe

Beside the flower-decked mound,

And felt that all her hope was dead,

The lilies’ fragrance stole around.

It stole into her wounded breast;

The sacred odors seemed to be

A message for her bleeding heart—

“The Crucified pities thee.”

Caroline Stratton Valentine.

THE BELL HANGS IN THE TOWER.