Like some noxious clinging vine.
New fresh springs of expectation
Bubbled through the softening soil
Of a heart that had been stony,
Stony, callous, dreary, wild,
Hard from unsuccessful toil.
Toil no longer unsuccessful,
With an angel near to guide,
With an angel face before me,
Angel footsteps at my side.
But my angel guest was human;
Human nature, yet divine,
Formed a bond of strong affection
Twixt her throbbing heart and mine.
Books we read, great deeds recounting;
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Co-operative Society Bulletin.