  TO B. P. S. "Why don't I write a story?" Ah, friend, if you could see The depths of hidden heart-life Alas! so known to me, You'd find the truest story Flashed out in gleams of light, Before which all pens falter And vanish out of sight. And as they vanish from me They leave the impress clear, That only Heaven's pen could write Such stories acted here. So in His book of life, Revealed to all some day, You'll find my story grand and true, Worked out in His own way. |
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