The morning dew collects upon the petals of the rose
The leaves that fall into the stream drift as the water flows
The breeze that greets the newborn morn may whisper ever sweet
As birdlings in their parents nest await their early treat.
I’d like to think that men are bold and to their faith keep true
It might just be my fondest dream it would be me and you
The dearest hope I can conceive is one which makes Him glad
These must be joys that God does love and will not make Him sad.
Claire V. Bogdanos 