(hope, on the wing)

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,*
(hope). hope is a thing with feathers,†
…he who binds himself to a jo
(my soul waits)
does the winged life destroy
hope is a thing with feathers
that perches on the soul,
(hope)

and in his word I hope;
and sings the song––without the words
and never stops at all,
(i hope)
and sweetest in the gale is heard;
and sore must be the storm

(and sings the song)

my soul waits for the Lord
and sings the song…and sings the song
without the words
(words)
but he who kisses the joy as it flies,
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm.

(hope)
and sings the song…and never stops

more than those who watch for the morning,
and never stops…
i’ve heard it in the chillest land,
(listen)
and on the strangest sea;
(waiting)
(but) [s]he who binds [her]self to a joy
does the winged life destroy;

more than those who watch for the morning.
lives in eternity’s sun rise
yet, never, in extremity,
hope is the thing with feathers,
it asked a crumb of me.

(but) [s]he who binds [her]self to a joy
does the winged life destroy;
(peace)

more than those who watch for the morning.
but [she] who kisses the joy as it flies,
(on wing)
for hope, my soul waits.
(                           )

and never stops at all

* bold typepsalm 130, verses 5-6

italic type-hope is a thing with feathers, emily dickinson
˚ plain type-kiss the joy as it flies, william blake
(parenthetical interruptions, my additions besides the rearrangement of all three pieces.)

psalm 130 vv 5-6

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,
and in His word I hope;
My soul waits for the Lord
more than those who watch for the morning,
more than those who watch for the morning.

hope is a thing with feathers-emily dickinson

hope is a thing with feathers
that perches on the soul,
and sings the songs––without words
and never stops at all

and in the sweetest gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
that could abash that little bird
that kept so many warm

i’ve heard it in the chillest land
and on the strangest sea
yet, never, in extremity,
it asked a crumb of me.


kiss the joy as it flies-william blake

he who binds himself to a joy
does the winged life destroy
but he who kisses the joy as it flies
lives in eternity’s sun rise.

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