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The year goes wrong, and tares grow strong, Hope starves without a crumb But God's time is our harvest time, And that is sure to come.

John L. Bates

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John L. Bates
Without
Goes
Years
Grows
Time
Year
Tares
Sure
Starves
Wrong
Crumb
Hope
Crumbs
Strong
Harvest
Come
Grow

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The joy late coming late departs.
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O, once in each man's life, at least, Good luck knocks at his door And wit to seize the flitting guest Need never hunger more. But while the loitering idler waits. Good luck beside his fire, The bold heart storms at fortune's gates, And conquers its desire.
John L. Bates
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Some day Love shall claim his own Some day Right ascend his throne, Some day hidden Truth be known Some day - some sweet day.
John L. Bates