Paul Faber, Surgeon

Paul Faber, Surgeon

Clear-windowed temple of the God of grace, From the loud wind to me a hiding-place! Thee gird broad lands with genial motions rife, But in thee dwells, high-throned, the Life of life Thy test no stagnant moat half-filled with mud, But living waters witnessing in flood! Thy priestess, beauty-clad, and gospel-shod, A fellow laborer in the earth with God! Good will art thou, and goodness all thy arts Doves to their windows, and to thee fly hearts! Take of the corn in thy dear shelter grown, Which else the storm had all too rudely blown; When to a higher temple thou shalt mount, Thy earthly gifts in heavenly friends shall count; Let these first-fruits enter thy lofty door, And golden lie upon thy golden floor. The rector sat on the box of his carriage, driving his horses toward his church, the grand old abbey-church of Glaston. His wife was inside, and an old womanhe had stopped on the road to take her upsat with her basket on the foot-board behind. His coachman sat beside him; he never took the reins when his master was there. Mr. Bevis drove like a gentleman, in an easy, informal, yet thoroughly business-like way. His horses were blacklarge, well-bred, and well-fed, but neither young nor showy, and the harness was just the least bit shabby. Indeed, the entire turnout, including his own hat and the coachman's, offered the beholder that aspect of indifference to show, which, by the suggestion of a nodding acquaintance with poverty, gave it the right clerical air of being not of this world. Mrs. Bevis had her basket on the seat before her, containing, beneath an upper stratum of flowers, some of the first rhubarb of the season and a pound or two of fresh butter for a poor relation in the town. ......Buy Now (To Read More)

Product details

Ebook Number: 12387
Author: MacDonald, George
Release Date: May 1, 2004
Format: eBook
Language: English