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 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
‘Thank God.’
‘For nine-and-twenty years the rainbow-pinioned Spring
Hath kissed the young lips of her smiling flowers;
For nine-and-twenty years hath Autumn's golden ring
Encircled the fair fruit in all her bowers.
Hath kissed the young lips of her smiling flowers;
For nine-and-twenty years hath Autumn's golden ring
Encircled the fair fruit in all her bowers.
‘Yes, nine-and-twenty years have darkly, sadly passed
Since last the light of heaven 't was mine to see;
All aid has failed! Thy skill my only hope, my last!
Good Hofrath, can there yet be hope for me?’
Since last the light of heaven 't was mine to see;
All aid has failed! Thy skill my only hope, my last!
Good Hofrath, can there yet be hope for me?’
Say, hath a passing angel left in that kind face
The mirrored image of his own sweet smile,
To the great good man's reverend beauty adding grace?
It may be so! listen! he speaks awhile.
The mirrored image of his own sweet smile,
To the great good man's reverend beauty adding grace?
It may be so! listen! he speaks awhile.
186
‘There is yet hope for thee! If God vouchsafe to bless,
Thou yet again may'st see the blessèd summer light!
Though there's a thorny hedge of pain, yet may access
Be gained thee to thy Eden of glad sight!’
Thou yet again may'st see the blessèd summer light!
Though there's a thorny hedge of pain, yet may access
Be gained thee to thy Eden of glad sight!’
The time is come, the operation o'er; yet he must wait
One moment longer, with unopened eye,—
The Hofrath writes (oh, what will be his fate?),
Now, blind one, read!—‘Thank God!’ his joyous cry.
One moment longer, with unopened eye,—
The Hofrath writes (oh, what will be his fate?),
Now, blind one, read!—‘Thank God!’ his joyous cry.
What words may tell the unknown joy of that glad heart?
Words cannot paint a bliss so deeply felt;
Like flakes of spring-snow, like the lightning's passing dart,
Half-formed in glowing happiness they melt.
Words cannot paint a bliss so deeply felt;
Like flakes of spring-snow, like the lightning's passing dart,
Half-formed in glowing happiness they melt.
‘Thank God!’ Yes, after nine-and-twenty years of night,
At length awakes for him the radiant day,
And the first word which he doth read with glad new sight
Is ‘Thank God!’ Thanks, praise to Him alway!
At length awakes for him the radiant day,
And the first word which he doth read with glad new sight
Is ‘Thank God!’ Thanks, praise to Him alway!
E'en had the first-seen sunbeam not upborne his mind
In praise to Him who said, ‘Let there be light,’
The Hofrath's beautiful device must surely find
A deep response, and heavenward turn his sight.
In praise to Him who said, ‘Let there be light,’
The Hofrath's beautiful device must surely find
A deep response, and heavenward turn his sight.
It was a lovely thought, to place the sweet-toned lyre
At once within the joy-unnervèd hand;
May blessings rest on him, and may the angel choir
Around him breathe the songs of their bright Fatherland.
At once within the joy-unnervèd hand;
May blessings rest on him, and may the angel choir
Around him breathe the songs of their bright Fatherland.
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |