Through
the steep, dry hills of my life
A
winding, hidden stream of love
Flows
on, greening my valleys
Taking
with it my little stones of trouble
That
fall, from high screes, in heavy rain
Tumbling
them, in sparkling rills and cascades
Tossing
them, one upon another, till smooth
They
shine, where the sun strikes through
Where
my little stream lies shallow
And
I, almost bare, am seen, not uncared for
By
the river's chiseling, but the better for it:
Made
a lovely thing for all my unresisting.
*
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