So long my life has followed no control
But mine own impulse; now, I pray thee, bend
My will to thine, and so, unhindered, tend
My soul's wild garden. I have laid the whole
Bare to thy sowing; and life's precious wine
Is of thy pouring, and thy way is mine.
Song
Where is the waiting-time?
Where are the fears?
Gone with the winter's rime,
The bygone years.
O'er life's plain, lone and vast,
Slow treads the morn,
Night shades have moved and passed,
Joy's day is born.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Woman's Love Letters, by Sophie M. Almon-Hensley
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