A HIDDEN WORLD.
Olive E. Dana, an American journalist. In the New England Journal.
The hidden world lies in the hand of God,
Waiting, like seed, to fall on the sod;
Tranquil its lakes were, and lovely its shores,
While idly each stream o'er the fretting rocks pours.
Its forests are fair and its mines fathomless,
Grand are its mountains in their loftiness;
Its fields wait the plow, and its harbors the ships,
No sail down the blue of the water-way slips.
God keeps in his palm, through centuries dim,
This hid, idle seed. It belongeth to him.
Away in a corner, where God only knows,
The seed when he plants it quickens and grows.
The pale buds unfold as the nations pass by,
The fragrance is grateful, the blooms multiply,
But it is blossom time, this what we see;
Who knows what the fullness of harvest will be.