Thou Worketh Perfectly (By: George MacDonald)

Thou worketh perfectly,
And if it seem
Some things are not so well
'Tis but because
They are too loving deep,
Too lofty wise
For me, poor child,
To understand their lows.
My highest wisdom,
Half is but a dream;
My love runs helpless
Like a falling stream;
Thy good embraces ill,
And lo! its illness dies!



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