Saturday, April 21, 2018 Text is available under the CC BY-SA 3.0 licence.

Helen Blackwood

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I'm very lonely now, Mary,
For the poor make no new friends;
But oh they love the better still
The few our Father sends!

 
Helen Blackwood

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Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes three;
The house is so lonely, the hours are so long
For poor weeping mother and me.
Yes, we are alone, poor Benny is dead,
And gone with the angels of light;
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When God means you to be a healer he sends you patients; when he makes you a teacher he sends you pupils; when he destines you to be a Master he sends you stories.

 
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Love is a self-manifested notion depending on how lonely you are - so if you're really attracted to someone, and you're really lonely, I think you can fall in love in an instant. It's all about where you're at.

 
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Love had he found in huts where poor men lie;
His daily teachers had been woods and rills,
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Somehow not only for Christmas
But all the long year through,
The joy that you give to others
Is the joy that comes back to you.
And the more you spend in blessing
The poor and lonely and sad,
The more of your heart's possessing
Returns to make you glad.

 
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