THE FINISHED PAGE
(1917)
TURN down the page!
For it is spoiled with careless smear
And dark with shadows wrought of pain;
Across it lie the purple stains
Which nothing can make white again—
Our slighted creeds.
For it is spoiled with careless smear
And dark with shadows wrought of pain;
Across it lie the purple stains
Which nothing can make white again—
Our slighted creeds.
Turn down the page!
God gave it us a year ago
To write our record fair and broad,
And we have reddened it with strife—
Give us another leaflet, Lord,
And take this back.
God gave it us a year ago
To write our record fair and broad,
And we have reddened it with strife—
Give us another leaflet, Lord,
And take this back.
Turn down the page—
This page of failure and of doubt,
Where only here and there a line—
Half blurred with blot of selfish tears—
Is lettered-gold with faith divine
That would not die.
This page of failure and of doubt,
Where only here and there a line—
Half blurred with blot of selfish tears—
Is lettered-gold with faith divine
That would not die.
Turn down the page;
And give us, Lord, another leaf.
We are but children who have spoiled
Their copy. Bid us write again.
Each line shall show where Love has toiled
If you give us a clean, white leaf
And turn this down,
Dear Lord of Hosts!
And give us, Lord, another leaf.
We are but children who have spoiled
Their copy. Bid us write again.
Each line shall show where Love has toiled
If you give us a clean, white leaf
And turn this down,
Dear Lord of Hosts!
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