Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things...
Tuesday 6 November 2012
Lead Me To Calvary
King of my life I crown Thee now, Thine may the glory be, Lest I forget Thy thorn-crowned brow, Lead me to Calvary.
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