QUATRAINS.
Reading edition
If one could hear aright the murmurings Of some shore-stranded sea-shell as it sings, It might be then that he would come to know An inkling of the Planner’s purposings. The weary shuttle can no more divine Of how its thread looks, in the whole design, Than we poor shuttles, in the hand of Fate Can fathom of the Plan a single line. E. R. White.
