  My life was woven long ago, Or ever this our earth was fair, With mingled threads of love and woe, Hate, tears, and laughter, hope, despair. Yea! it was made ere water was, Ere snow fell, or the bright dew shone Upon the tender blades of grass; It sate and dreamed its life alone. Ere golden stars swam through the blue Of heaven, singing as they came, God wrought into it every hue, And gave it wings and feet of flame: A little thing of His own breath, A word that trembled into song, To fall through mists of life and death, A frail thing conquering the strong. Remembering earth's shining streams And all the heavens' starry grace. Yea, dreaming once again the dreams, Which were the beauty of thy face. |
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