“Here is a bit that I came across a day or two ago.” He took a printed slip from his pocket and began to read:
“Little pure-hearts, nestling shyly
On the cool, pine-shadowed slope,
Filling all the gloomy forest
With the very breath of hope,
“Whence hath come your wondrous patience,
In the dark to wait so long,—
Faith, to venture forth so bravely
At the first wee sparrow-song?
“All your alabaster boxes,