In thy star-like glow.
Come in God’s freedom of the souls set free;
No startling touch, no vision dread be mine—
Enfold me in thy presence—let me be
Soul of thy soul in all its life divine.
Come to me, loved one,
Whisper—thine, still thine!
“Is that Miss Heritage’s?” asked Mrs. Woodburn. “Is it really? I did not think so much was in her. It is rather lugubrious; but for so young a girl, there is stuff in it.”
“But you know, father says these Quakers are extraordinary people,” said Letty. “You don’t know all at once what is in them.”
“It is very good,” said Ann. “I should like a copy of it. It is much better, I undertake to say, than that Mr. Moon’s.”