Sunday, October 2, 2016

sabbath poem

Lord, make my heart a place where angels sing!
For surely thoughts low-breathed by Thee
Are angels gliding near on noiseless wings;
And where a home they see
Swept clean, and garnished with adoring joy,
They enter in and dwell,
And teach that heart to swell
With heavenly melody, their own untired employ.
John Keble (1792–1866)

( they have alot of sweeping to do in mine! )

1 comment:

melissa said...

Oh yes. Both to the angels AND the sweeping.