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Sea-Shells I gathered shells upon the sand, Each shell a little perfect thing, So frail, yet potent to withstand The mountain-waves' wild buffeting. Through storms no ship could dare to brave The little shells float lightly, save All that they might have lost of fine Shape and soft colour crystalline. Yet I amid the world's wild surge Doubt if my soul can face the strife, The waves of circumstance that urge That slight ship on the rocks of life. O soul, be brave, for He who saves The frail shell in the giant waves, Will bring thy puny bark to land Safe in the hollow of His hand. Edith Nesbit's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1210 |
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