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| II. |
 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
170
‘It is well with the Child.’
Only one dark December time,
With chill and gloomy hours;
And now—the ‘everlasting spring,’
The ‘never-withering flowers.’
With chill and gloomy hours;
And now—the ‘everlasting spring,’
The ‘never-withering flowers.’
Only one week of weary pains,
With suffering oppressed;
And now—the Sabbath that remains,
God's everlasting rest.
With suffering oppressed;
And now—the Sabbath that remains,
God's everlasting rest.
Only one word of earthly speech,
The sweetest and the first;
And now—the songs that angels sing
From baby lips have burst.
The sweetest and the first;
And now—the songs that angels sing
From baby lips have burst.
Only one journey, fondly borne
In arms of tenderest love;
And now—no wanderings more for him,
Safe in the home above.
In arms of tenderest love;
And now—no wanderings more for him,
Safe in the home above.
Yes, safe for ever, safe and blest,
Where they ‘go no more out;’
With Jesus, whom he never grieved
By any sin or doubt.
Where they ‘go no more out;’
With Jesus, whom he never grieved
By any sin or doubt.
171
Not preluded by tearful prayer,
His happy praise shall swell,
And joy of ‘welcome’ shall be his
Who never knew ‘farewell.’
His happy praise shall swell,
And joy of ‘welcome’ shall be his
Who never knew ‘farewell.’
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |