What if a spirit redeemed, amid the host
Of chanting angels, in some transient lull
Of the eternal anthem heard the cry
Of its lost darling.
Would it not long to leave the bliss of heaven
Bearing a little water in its hand,
To moisten those poor lips that plead in vain
With him we call Our Father?
Oliver Wendell Holmes
Of chanting angels, in some transient lull
Of the eternal anthem heard the cry
Of its lost darling.
Would it not long to leave the bliss of heaven
Bearing a little water in its hand,
To moisten those poor lips that plead in vain
With him we call Our Father?
Oliver Wendell Holmes
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