When sparrows build and the leaves break forth My old sorrow wakes and cries.

It is a comely fashion to be glad; Joy is the grace we say to God.

Tears are the showers that fertilize this world.

Children bring their own love with them when they come.

And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.

we wish for more in life rather than more of it.

How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.