By: Ardis E. Parshall - November 05, 2013 Until By Clarence Edwin Flynn None knows how lovely is the doorThat in the evening swings,Until it welcomes him no moreFrom daily journeyings. None knows how lovely is a gateThat opens easily,Till unresponsive hinges waitIn silence, drearily. None knows how lovely are the handsThat touch him in the gloam,The voice of love that understands,Till he must stand alone. Give thanks, and make each hour ...
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