The while He sits whose name is Love, And waits, as Noah did, for the dove, To wit if she would fly to him.He waits for us, while, houseless things, We beat about with bruised wings On the dark floods and water-springs, The ruined world, the desolate sea; With open windows from the prime All night, all day, He waits sublime,Until the fulness of the time Decreed from His eternity.
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About Jean Ingelow
Jean Ingelow was a 19th-century English poet and novelist. Jean Ingelow was an English poet and novelist, who gained sudden fame in 1863. She also wrote several stories for children. Read more on Wikipedia →