Poetry

OUTSIDE OF CHURCH.

Joaquin Miller


  • It seems to me a grandest thing
  • To save the soul from perishing
  • By planting it where heaven's rain
  • May reach and make it grow again.

  • It seems to me the man who leaves
  • The soul to perish is as one
  • Who gathers up the empty sheaves
  • When all the golden grain is done.