1869
[BLIND SORROW]
One bitter time of mourning, I remember,
When day, and night, my sad heart did complain,
My life, I said, was one cold, bleak December,
And all its pleasures, were but whited pain.
Nothing could rouse me from my sullen sorrow,
Because you were not near, I would not smile.
And from a score of joys refused to borrow
One ray of light, to gild the weary while.
But all the blessing God has given, scorning,
I wept because we were so far apart,
And spent my time in idle, aimless mourning,
That only kept the grief fresh in my heart--
God pity me! I know now we were nearer.
With all these intervening miles of space--
That life was sweeter, and the future dearer.
Than when to-day I met you, face to face!
God meant to break it gently--ease my anguish,
But I rebelled, and caviled at His will.
Now, seeing His great wisdom, though I languish,
In bitter pain, I trust His mercy still.
["BE NOT WEARY"]
Sometimes, when I am toil-worn and aweary,
All tired out, with working long, and well,
And earth is dark, and skies above are dreary,
And heart and soul are all too sick to tell,
These words have come to me, like angel fingers,
Pressing the spirit eyelids down in sleep.
"Oh, let us not be weary in well doing,
For in due season, we shall surely reap."
Oh, blessed promise! when I seem to hear it,
Whispered by angel voices on the air,
It breathes new life, and courage to my spirit,
And gives me strength to suffer and forbear.
And I can wait most patiently for harvest,
And cast my seeds, nor ever faint, nor weep,
If I know surely, that my work availeth,
And in God's season, I at last shall reap.