Grace Aguilar: «Sabbath Thoughts VI»
- Oh, do not think because I weep
And smiles awhile are flown,
And thoughts of darkness o’er me creep,
My God hath left me lone;
- That His deep love is vain to hugh
This wildly yearning heart,
That to the dreams which o’er me rush,
He cannot peace impart;
- That ‘tis but vain, religious balm,
Which joy my soul had stored,
And fruitless all, the hope, the calm,
Found in His precious word.
- Oh, no! Oh, no! Mine eyelids swell
With quickly quiv’ring tears,
And thoughts, in sluggish darkness, dwell
‘Neath earth’s depressing fears;
- And all of joy, of hope, of peace,
Seems banished hence awhile,
For he who bids all sorrow cease,
Hath veiled His gracious smile;
- And turned away that loving eye,
Which beamed on me in pain,
And left me helplessly to lie,
As if my trust were vain.
- No! no! ‘tis only for a little while,
He turns away His face,
And once again His cheering smile,
My yearning soul shall trace;
- And ‘tis His love, which lays me low,
And bows my soul to dust,
And bids the tear of anguish flow,
To mark if still I trust:
- If still, though comfortless, I turn,
And pine, and long for Him,
And loving mercy still discern,
Though mortal sight be dim,—
- And oh, I know, I feel it love,
And lay me at His feet,
Knowing that if I look above,
E’en sorrow’s self is sweet.
- The tempest shadows darkly lower,
To fold me in their night,
But, oh! in His appointed hour,
His love will bring forth light.
- And I will wait for Him, and rest,
Without one murm’ring plaint,
Though sighs escape my labouring breast,
And my lonely spirit faint.
- Heed not my crying, Lord! ‘tis well,
Or Thou wouldst let me free,
Better in chains with Thee to dwell
Than free, apart from Thee!
- Thou mark’st me Thine; these hours of pain
That bid me lonely lie,
And bind me with a heavy chain,
Still, still, proclaim Thee nigh!
- They call me for awhile from earth,
And all her pleasant dreams,
And if they check the voice of mirth,
And joy’s too dazzling gleams:
- Oh, ‘tis to hold commune with Thee,
To feel I am Thine own,
Thy “still small voice” would silent be,
In festal halls alone.
- Let me but feel this Father, oh!
E’en though awhile I weep,
Let not o’er faith’s rejoicing glow
The stagnant darkness creep.
- Be with me still! though comfortless,
Let not my trust depart,
Oh, be thy spirit nigh to bless,
This lone and aching heart!
- Grant me but faith, my God! to rest
Unmurm’ring in thy will,
Then, then, though peace forsake my breast,
I am in safety still!
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