We figure to ourselves The thing we like and then we build it up, As chance will have it, on the rock or sand, For thought is tired of wandering o'er the world, And homebound Fancy runs her bark ashore.
We figure to ourselves The thing we like and then we build it up, As chance will have it, on the rock or sand, For thought is tired of wandering o'er the world, And homebound Fancy runs her bark ashore.
Such souls, Whose sudden visitations daze the world, Vanish like lightning, but they leave behind A voice that in the distance far away Wakens the slumbering ages.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories