Here you will find the Poem The Spirit of poet Jones Very
I would not breathe, when blows thy mighty wind O'er desolate hill and winter-blasted plain, But stand in waiting hope if I may find Each flower recalled to newer life again That now unsightly hides itself from Thee, Amid the leaves or rustling grasses dry, With ice-cased rock and snowy-mantled tree Ashamed lest Thou its nakedness should spy; But Thou shall breathe and every rattling bough Shall gather leaves; each rock with rivers flow; And they that hide them from thy presence now In new found robes along thy path shall glow, And meadows at thy coming fall and rise, Their green waves sprinkled with a thousand eyes.
