Laudations few this weary world receives; But we, this age, shall nowise stint our meed of praise, For through the open windows of its skies Have come, upon the wings of morn, Chaste dawn-tints of the day beyond, To rest within a woman's waiting heart, Whose love, as Christ's, unveils this holy noon to us. It glows from thence unto all journeying souls, And with its radiance glorifies their ways.
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