 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
Sunbeams in the Wood.
Mark ye not the sunbeams glancing
Through the cool green shade,
On the waving fern-leaves dancing,
In the quiet glade?
Through the cool green shade,
On the waving fern-leaves dancing,
In the quiet glade?
See you how they change and quiver
Where the broad oaks rise,
Rippling like a golden river
From their fountain skies?
Where the broad oaks rise,
Rippling like a golden river
From their fountain skies?
On the grey old timber resting
Like a sleeping dove,
Like a fairy grandchild nesting
In an old man's love.
Like a sleeping dove,
Like a fairy grandchild nesting
In an old man's love.
On the dusty pathway tracing
Arabesques with golden style;
Light and shadow interlacing,
Like a tearful smile.
Arabesques with golden style;
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Like a tearful smile.
Many a hidden leaf revealing,
Many an unseen flower;
Like a maiden lightly stealing
Past each secret bower.
Many an unseen flower;
Like a maiden lightly stealing
Past each secret bower.
Oh! how beautiful they make it
Everywhere they fall;
Sunbeams! why will ye forsake it
At pale Evening's call?
Everywhere they fall;
Sunbeams! why will ye forsake it
At pale Evening's call?
In the arching thickets linger,
In the woodland aisle,
Gilding them with trembling finger,
Yet a little while.
In the woodland aisle,
Gilding them with trembling finger,
Yet a little while.
Then, your last calm radiance pouring,
Bid the earth good-night;
Like a sainted spirit soaring
To a home of light.
Bid the earth good-night;
Like a sainted spirit soaring
To a home of light.
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |