 | Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton |  |
134
ROSE'S DIARY.
S. N. R. F.
June 20, 1850.
136
‘Again therefore spake Jesus unto them, saying, I am
the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not
walk in the darkness, but shall have the light of life.’
137
I. January.
I have a little trembling light, which still
All tenderly I keep, and ever will.
I think it never wholly dies away,
But oft it seems as if it could not stay,
And I do strive to keep it if I may.
All tenderly I keep, and ever will.
I think it never wholly dies away,
But oft it seems as if it could not stay,
And I do strive to keep it if I may.
Sometimes the wind-gusts push it sore aside;
Then closely to my breast my light I hide,
And for it make a tent of my two hands;
And, though it scarce might on the lamp abide,
It soon recovers, and uprightly stands.
Then closely to my breast my light I hide,
And for it make a tent of my two hands;
And, though it scarce might on the lamp abide,
It soon recovers, and uprightly stands.
Sometimes it seems there is no flame at all;
I look quite close because it is so small:
Then all for sorrow do I weep and sigh;
But Some One seems to listen when I cry,
And the light burns up, and I know not why.
I look quite close because it is so small:
Then all for sorrow do I weep and sigh;
But Some One seems to listen when I cry,
And the light burns up, and I know not why.
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Sometimes I think—How could I live, what do,
Without my light?—And then,—Does each of you,
Dear friends,—(I think)—a little light have too?
But still I fear to speak, and can but sigh,—
And it may stay my secret till I die.
Without my light?—And then,—Does each of you,
Dear friends,—(I think)—a little light have too?
But still I fear to speak, and can but sigh,—
And it may stay my secret till I die.
139
II. February.
To her, my friend, about this secret light
I spake to-day: she said she knew the same;
I must be thankful, for it was God's flame;
For guidance it was meant, and for delight,
And, unto all who asked for it, it came.
I spake to-day: she said she knew the same;
I must be thankful, for it was God's flame;
For guidance it was meant, and for delight,
And, unto all who asked for it, it came.
She said it is this light that shows the way
To true deeds; that the martyr who adjourns
From flames to heavenly house, finds it outburns
The pile; and that, it lighting us, we may
Rejoin our long-lost loving ones some day.
To true deeds; that the martyr who adjourns
From flames to heavenly house, finds it outburns
The pile; and that, it lighting us, we may
Rejoin our long-lost loving ones some day.
As these her words found entrance at mine ears,
Mine eyes grew hot; great thoughts my mind did drown;
I seem'd to breathe of heavenly atmospheres;—
But when she went away I knelt me down,
And all my face was wetted o'er with tears.
Mine eyes grew hot; great thoughts my mind did drown;
I seem'd to breathe of heavenly atmospheres;—
But when she went away I knelt me down,
And all my face was wetted o'er with tears.
140
III. March.
How shall I keep this sacred light? How best
Preserve it from such influence as assails?
Unless I tend it lovingly, it fails;
And there is nothing when the blast prevails
But the poor shelter of my hands and breast.
Preserve it from such influence as assails?
Unless I tend it lovingly, it fails;
And there is nothing when the blast prevails
But the poor shelter of my hands and breast.
O God, O Father, hear Thy child who cries!
Who would not quench Thy flame, who would not dare
To let it dwindle in sinful air;
Who does feel how all-precious such a prize,
And yet, alas! is feeble and not wise.
Who would not quench Thy flame, who would not dare
To let it dwindle in sinful air;
Who does feel how all-precious such a prize,
And yet, alas! is feeble and not wise.
O hear, dear Father, for Thou know'st the need!
Thou know'st what awful height there is in Thee,—
How very low I am. O do Thou feed
Thy light, that it burn ever, and succeed
My life to truest holiness to lead.
Thou know'st what awful height there is in Thee,—
How very low I am. O do Thou feed
Thy light, that it burn ever, and succeed
My life to truest holiness to lead.
141
IV. April.
Gladly unto the House of God I go.
The private sabbath-fountain, ebbing low,
Up-welling will with more refreshment flow;
New health of heart, new wealth of thought arise,
In worship of the Lord of earth and skies.
The private sabbath-fountain, ebbing low,
Up-welling will with more refreshment flow;
New health of heart, new wealth of thought arise,
In worship of the Lord of earth and skies.
Here on each reverent face how good to gaze!
How loud the silence from their lips that falls!
And hark, the place how hush'd, when o'er the walls
A solemn, sacred, soften'd echo strays,
Born of the voice wherewith the pastor prays!
How loud the silence from their lips that falls!
And hark, the place how hush'd, when o'er the walls
A solemn, sacred, soften'd echo strays,
Born of the voice wherewith the pastor prays!
The prayer wherewith our souls at first did bow
In stillness, soon we may with voice endow,
For lo! the choir hath now begun to bare,
Reverent, the limbs of Music, who, till now
Hath lain retirëd in the silent air;
In stillness, soon we may with voice endow,
For lo! the choir hath now begun to bare,
Reverent, the limbs of Music, who, till now
Hath lain retirëd in the silent air;
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And now they show that fair form whereunto
We with our voice the tender air may mould
And fashion till it take resemblance true.
O Father! let us now, so singing, strive
To be with worship's very soul alive.
We with our voice the tender air may mould
And fashion till it take resemblance true.
O Father! let us now, so singing, strive
To be with worship's very soul alive.
Let all our hearts with Thy inspirings glow,
And make pure thoughts, like flowers, bud and blow
Before Thee, O our Saviour! till there go
Such sweetness forth as shall in life's rough ways
Linger and live about us all our days.
And make pure thoughts, like flowers, bud and blow
Before Thee, O our Saviour! till there go
Such sweetness forth as shall in life's rough ways
Linger and live about us all our days.
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V. May
An awe-inspiring thing it is to invite
The church profess'd of God, that they may see
How well we do maintain the heavenly light,
How pure, how holy-temper'd we can be,
How daily win similitude to Thee.
The church profess'd of God, that they may see
How well we do maintain the heavenly light,
How pure, how holy-temper'd we can be,
How daily win similitude to Thee.
And yet this thing thou callest me to do;
And I, a child, am to confess Thy name
Among those who confess Thee, and proclaim
That I am also Thine; possessing too,
As they, the shinings of Thy holy flame.
And I, a child, am to confess Thy name
Among those who confess Thee, and proclaim
That I am also Thine; possessing too,
As they, the shinings of Thy holy flame.
Therefore, O Father! faith to do the task
Thou call'st me to; pureness, to show me how
Thy Spirit sincerely ever to avow;
And true humility, and love, to endow
My life with henceforth alway,—these I ask.
Thou call'st me to; pureness, to show me how
Thy Spirit sincerely ever to avow;
And true humility, and love, to endow
My life with henceforth alway,—these I ask.
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And while 'tis just that to profess before
Thy servants' faces I should be afraid,
O let me, Father! ever dread much more
Lest I from that profession retrograde
Which to Thyself in secret I have made.
Thy servants' faces I should be afraid,
O let me, Father! ever dread much more
Lest I from that profession retrograde
Which to Thyself in secret I have made.
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VI. June.
The day with light its genial self engirds;
The trees are glad with fluty voices dear:—
‘Thou art my God!’—When I say o'er those words,
I see a light beyond the day, and hear
Voices far richer than the songs of birds.
The trees are glad with fluty voices dear:—
‘Thou art my God!’—When I say o'er those words,
I see a light beyond the day, and hear
Voices far richer than the songs of birds.
Mine eyes with happy tears then overswim;
The thoughts I have are sweetest that can be;
My mind's a cup with love above the brim;
Fine incense circles round whate'er I see;
In every sound I hear a holy hymn.
The thoughts I have are sweetest that can be;
My mind's a cup with love above the brim;
Fine incense circles round whate'er I see;
In every sound I hear a holy hymn.
Thou art my God! Thou, Father, Thou my Friend;
My Saviour Thou, the eternal Lord of all!
O thought which doth all other thought transcend,
Beneath whose stress well may I prostrate fall
In love and wonder which should know no end!
My Saviour Thou, the eternal Lord of all!
O thought which doth all other thought transcend,
Beneath whose stress well may I prostrate fall
In love and wonder which should know no end!
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VII. August.
Unless I strive these people dear to bless,
I do not love my God. If still I seek
No good or joy of theirs, and acquiesce
In what makes weak the strong, or wrongs the weak,
Myself of God's own love I dispossess.
I do not love my God. If still I seek
No good or joy of theirs, and acquiesce
In what makes weak the strong, or wrongs the weak,
Myself of God's own love I dispossess.
I must begin to live for others now;
Some wisely-loving work must now commence.
Soon will this sun go down; alas, and how
Should I then dare with any confidence
A second dawn to look for and avow?
Some wisely-loving work must now commence.
Soon will this sun go down; alas, and how
Should I then dare with any confidence
A second dawn to look for and avow?
Who works not for his fellows starves his soul;
His thoughts grow poor and dwindle, and his heart
Grudges each beat as misers do a dole;
He dies anon, and shall with them have part
Who find in death an everlasting goal.
His thoughts grow poor and dwindle, and his heart
Grudges each beat as misers do a dole;
He dies anon, and shall with them have part
Who find in death an everlasting goal.
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VIII. September.
Put not on me, O Lord! this work divine,
For I am too unworthy, and Thy speech
Would be defrauded through such lips as mine.
I have not learn'd Thee yet, and shall I teach?
O choose some other instrument of Thine!
For I am too unworthy, and Thy speech
Would be defrauded through such lips as mine.
I have not learn'd Thee yet, and shall I teach?
O choose some other instrument of Thine!
The great, the royal ones, the noble saints,
These all are Thine, and they will speak for Thee.
No one who undertakes Thy words but faints;
Yet, if that man is saintly and sin-free,
Through him Thou wilt, O Lord! self-utter'd be.
These all are Thine, and they will speak for Thee.
No one who undertakes Thy words but faints;
Yet, if that man is saintly and sin-free,
Through him Thou wilt, O Lord! self-utter'd be.
But how shall I say anything, a child,
Not fit for such high work,—oh how shall I
Say what in speaking must not be defiled?
And yet, and yet, if I refuse to try,
The light that burns for mine own life will die.
Not fit for such high work,—oh how shall I
Say what in speaking must not be defiled?
And yet, and yet, if I refuse to try,
The light that burns for mine own life will die.
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IX. October.
How noble ought my manners now to be,
How white my secret life,—I, who have seen
The Lord in His Word's glory! I, who see
So vast a mound of love to intervene
Between the torrent of my sins and me!
How white my secret life,—I, who have seen
The Lord in His Word's glory! I, who see
So vast a mound of love to intervene
Between the torrent of my sins and me!
I ought to walk now as the angels do,
The holy dead, redeem'd by faithful strife
From this inferior state; to whom accrue
The higher issues of that blessed life
That hath with Thee undying interview.
The holy dead, redeem'd by faithful strife
From this inferior state; to whom accrue
The higher issues of that blessed life
That hath with Thee undying interview.
I ought to be as holy-white as they,
As ardent toward my Lord:—alas! instead,
Upon the very path my Lord doth tread
To meet my soul, I sink down, sooth to say,
On the road-side almost a castaway.
As ardent toward my Lord:—alas! instead,
Upon the very path my Lord doth tread
To meet my soul, I sink down, sooth to say,
On the road-side almost a castaway.
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Up, up, my soul! Awake, and use thy goad!
I lose for ever the divine abode
If in this poor estate I thus abide:
The ground I stand on now will soon subside,
And be by ocean fathomless o'erflow'd.
I lose for ever the divine abode
If in this poor estate I thus abide:
The ground I stand on now will soon subside,
And be by ocean fathomless o'erflow'd.
150
X. November.
What mean these slow returns of love; these days
Of wither'd prayer; of dead unflowering praise?
These hands of twilight laid on me to keep
Dusk veils on holy vision? This most deep,
Most eyelid-heavy, lamentable sleep?
Of wither'd prayer; of dead unflowering praise?
These hands of twilight laid on me to keep
Dusk veils on holy vision? This most deep,
Most eyelid-heavy, lamentable sleep?
Lo, time is precious as it was before;
As sinful, sin; my goal as unattain'd;
And yet I drowse, and dream, and am not pain'd
At God far off as ever heretofore,—
At sin as flagrant as of old, or more.
As sinful, sin; my goal as unattain'd;
And yet I drowse, and dream, and am not pain'd
At God far off as ever heretofore,—
At sin as flagrant as of old, or more.
Dear Lord, what can I do? I come to Thee:
I have none other helper. Thou art free
To save me, or to kill. But I appeal
To Thine own love which will not elsewise deal
Than prove Thyself my help, Thy will my weal.
I have none other helper. Thou art free
To save me, or to kill. But I appeal
To Thine own love which will not elsewise deal
Than prove Thyself my help, Thy will my weal.
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Wake, wake me, God of love! and let Thy fire
Loosen these icicles and make them drop
And run into warm tears; for I aspire
To hold Thee faster, dearer, warmer, nigher,
And love and serve Thee henceforth without stop.
Loosen these icicles and make them drop
And run into warm tears; for I aspire
To hold Thee faster, dearer, warmer, nigher,
And love and serve Thee henceforth without stop.
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XI. December.
O Father! I have sinn'd against Thee,—done
The thing I thought I never more should do.
My days were set before me, light all through,
But I have made them dark, it is too true,
And drawn dense clouds between me and my Sun.
The thing I thought I never more should do.
My days were set before me, light all through,
But I have made them dark, it is too true,
And drawn dense clouds between me and my Sun.
Forgive me not, for grievous is my sin;
Yea, very deep and dark. Alas! I see
Such blackness in it, that I may not be
Forgiven of myself,—how then of Thee?—
Vile, vile without; black, utter black within.
Yea, very deep and dark. Alas! I see
Such blackness in it, that I may not be
Forgiven of myself,—how then of Thee?—
Vile, vile without; black, utter black within.
If my shut eyes should dare their lids to part,
I know how they must quail beneath the blaze
Of Thy love's greatness. No: I dare not raise
One prayer to look aloft, lest I should gaze
On such forgiveness as would break my heart.
I know how they must quail beneath the blaze
Of Thy love's greatness. No: I dare not raise
One prayer to look aloft, lest I should gaze
On such forgiveness as would break my heart.
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XII. January.
I said, ‘These trivial rules I cannot see
Why any longer they should cumber me.’
So left I them behind, and for awhile
The change was pleasant and did me beguile
To dance, to sing of liberty, and smile.
Why any longer they should cumber me.’
So left I them behind, and for awhile
The change was pleasant and did me beguile
To dance, to sing of liberty, and smile.
But presently my light went dim, my head
Grew dull and heavy, and my heart was lead;
And, if I moved at all, it was to go
Back to the thickets and the places low
Which thorns and cross-leaved nettles over-grow.
Grew dull and heavy, and my heart was lead;
And, if I moved at all, it was to go
Back to the thickets and the places low
Which thorns and cross-leaved nettles over-grow.
At last I reassumed my rules with pain,
(I thank Thee, Lord!) and soon grew well again.
But ever, if I leave those helps behind,
My heart beats colder, and my head, I find,
Grows dull and heavy, and mine eyes are blind.
(I thank Thee, Lord!) and soon grew well again.
But ever, if I leave those helps behind,
My heart beats colder, and my head, I find,
Grows dull and heavy, and mine eyes are blind.
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Sometimes I think, ‘What can a thing so small
Matter to eye or head or heart at all?’
But then I answer, ‘What is that to me?’
And truly, Father! it is good there be
Reasons in reasons only known to Thee.
Matter to eye or head or heart at all?’
But then I answer, ‘What is that to me?’
And truly, Father! it is good there be
Reasons in reasons only known to Thee.
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XIII. March.
Take what ye will, ye men who boldly nod,
And blindly, opposite the Lord of all;
Take from me what ye will, the loss is small,
With still a Father upon Whom to call.
Take what ye will but Him. Leave me my God.
And blindly, opposite the Lord of all;
Take from me what ye will, the loss is small,
With still a Father upon Whom to call.
Take what ye will but Him. Leave me my God.
And they must leave Thee, Father! None can kill
Thy living splendours. Let them think to shake
The sky as 'twere a sheet, until they make
The sun to fall thereof, they cannot take
My Sun away from me, do what they will.
Thy living splendours. Let them think to shake
The sky as 'twere a sheet, until they make
The sun to fall thereof, they cannot take
My Sun away from me, do what they will.
They cannot rob me of my God. I hold
My Friend with such a hand as will not sprain
Though myriads counter-strive with might and main.
O daring men, Him ye ignore in vain:
Whom ye deny, mine arms of love enfold.
My Friend with such a hand as will not sprain
Though myriads counter-strive with might and main.
O daring men, Him ye ignore in vain:
Whom ye deny, mine arms of love enfold.
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XIV. July.
The Pearl,
my Lord's gate-jewel bright and fair,
My charm against deceit, against despair!
It makes me glad as often as I gaze,
Gives me true counsel in the entrance-ways,
And sheds bright light and comfort on my days.—
My charm against deceit, against despair!
It makes me glad as often as I gaze,
Gives me true counsel in the entrance-ways,
And sheds bright light and comfort on my days.—
Had I but lost this vision, even although
My life might still to some appear as sound
And vivid as before, alas! I know
By them who truly see I should be found
Lying that instant dead upon the ground.
My life might still to some appear as sound
And vivid as before, alas! I know
By them who truly see I should be found
Lying that instant dead upon the ground.
Sometimes I gaze upon it, and it makes
Me shake with its rebuke. Less awful breaks
The streaming glory of the morning-red.
In sultry skies the glowings are less dread
Of lightnings waiting in their gathering lakes.
Me shake with its rebuke. Less awful breaks
The streaming glory of the morning-red.
In sultry skies the glowings are less dread
Of lightnings waiting in their gathering lakes.
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XV. September.
My mind was ruffled with small cares to-day,
And I said hasty words, and did not keep
Long-suffering patience well; and now how deep
My sorrow for this sin! In vain I weep
For foolish words I never can unsay.
And I said hasty words, and did not keep
Long-suffering patience well; and now how deep
My sorrow for this sin! In vain I weep
For foolish words I never can unsay.
Yet not in vain, oh surely not in vain!
This trouble must compel me to take heed;
And surely I shall learn how much I need
Thy constant strength mine own to help indeed,
And all my thought to patience to constrain.
This trouble must compel me to take heed;
And surely I shall learn how much I need
Thy constant strength mine own to help indeed,
And all my thought to patience to constrain.
Yes, I shall learn at length, though I neglect
Day after day to use my help from Thee.
O aid me that I alway recollect
Thy gentle-heartedness; and O correct
Whatever else of sin Thou seest in me!
Day after day to use my help from Thee.
O aid me that I alway recollect
Thy gentle-heartedness; and O correct
Whatever else of sin Thou seest in me!
158
XVI. November.
Each day a page is of my being's book,
And what I do is what I write therein;
And often do I make sad blots of sin;
And seldom proves the writing quite akin
To what my heart beforehand undertook.
And what I do is what I write therein;
And often do I make sad blots of sin;
And seldom proves the writing quite akin
To what my heart beforehand undertook.
Daily I turn a fresh leaf, and renew
My hope of now at last a nobler page;
But presently in something I engage
That looks but poorly on a calm review,
And leaves my future a mean heritage.
My hope of now at last a nobler page;
But presently in something I engage
That looks but poorly on a calm review,
And leaves my future a mean heritage.
So leaf on leaf, once clean, is turn'd and gone,
And the dark spots show through, and I grow sad,
And blush, and frown, and sigh. And, if I had
A million pages yet to write upon,
Perhaps the millionth would be just as bad.
And the dark spots show through, and I grow sad,
And blush, and frown, and sigh. And, if I had
A million pages yet to write upon,
Perhaps the millionth would be just as bad.
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What shall I do? Some new leaves, even yet,
May be before me. And perhaps I may
Write, even yet, some not ignoble day.
Alas! I do not know;—I cannot say.—
What is it to feel living?—I forget.
May be before me. And perhaps I may
Write, even yet, some not ignoble day.
Alas! I do not know;—I cannot say.—
What is it to feel living?—I forget.
160
XVII. January.
Cut off from Thee I am. Sin is the knife.
Yet must I join Thee, though with grief and strife.
Oh let me live with Thee,—live, live with Thee!
How else, Lord! can I live, unless more free
Thy truth, Thy love, Thy life, flow on through me?
Yet must I join Thee, though with grief and strife.
Oh let me live with Thee,—live, live with Thee!
How else, Lord! can I live, unless more free
Thy truth, Thy love, Thy life, flow on through me?
Cries with this prayer my heart's tongue without rest,
God's great name being on it. This hath drest
Mine eyes full oft in veils that swell and drip;
This oft hath weigh'd a burden on my lip,
And lifted for my Lord my sighing breast.
God's great name being on it. This hath drest
Mine eyes full oft in veils that swell and drip;
This oft hath weigh'd a burden on my lip,
And lifted for my Lord my sighing breast.
Oh let me live with Thee,—live, live with Thee!
How else, Lord! can I live, unless more free
Thy truth, Thy love, Thy life, flow on through me?
I am cut off from Thee. Sin is the knife.
Yet will I join Thee, though through grief and strife.
How else, Lord! can I live, unless more free
Thy truth, Thy love, Thy life, flow on through me?
I am cut off from Thee. Sin is the knife.
Yet will I join Thee, though through grief and strife.
161
XVIII. February.
Late on me, weeping, did this whisper fall:—
‘Dear child, there is no need to weep at all.
Why go about to grieve and to despair?
Why weep now through thy future's eyes, and bear
Vainly to-day to-morrow's load of care?
‘Dear child, there is no need to weep at all.
Why go about to grieve and to despair?
Why weep now through thy future's eyes, and bear
Vainly to-day to-morrow's load of care?
‘Mine is thy welfare. Ev'n the storms fulfil,
On those who love Me, none but My decrees.
Lightning shall not strike thee against My will;
And I, thy Lord, can save thee when I please
From quaking earth and the devouring seas.
On those who love Me, none but My decrees.
Lightning shall not strike thee against My will;
And I, thy Lord, can save thee when I please
From quaking earth and the devouring seas.
‘Why be so dull, so slow to understand?
The more thou trustest Me, the more can flow
My love, and thou, a jewel in My hand,
Shalt richer be; whence thou canst never go
So softly slipping, but that I shall know.
The more thou trustest Me, the more can flow
My love, and thou, a jewel in My hand,
Shalt richer be; whence thou canst never go
So softly slipping, but that I shall know.
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‘If thou should'st seem to slip,—if griefs and pains
And death assail,—for thee there yet remains
My love, which lets them, and which surely will
Thee reinstate where thou a place shalt fill
Inviolate, for ever steadfast still.’
And death assail,—for thee there yet remains
My love, which lets them, and which surely will
Thee reinstate where thou a place shalt fill
Inviolate, for ever steadfast still.’
‘Father!’ (I said) ‘I do accept Thy word.
To perfect trust in Thee now am I stirr'd
By the dear gracious saying I have heard.’
And, having said this, fell a peace so deep
Into my heart, what could I do but weep?
To perfect trust in Thee now am I stirr'd
By the dear gracious saying I have heard.’
And, having said this, fell a peace so deep
Into my heart, what could I do but weep?
163
XIX. March.
I must behold Him nearer than I do;
Far truer vision of my Lord achieve;
So live, as never more His heart to grieve;
So open lie as largely to receive
The Lord at every lustrous avenue,
Far truer vision of my Lord achieve;
So live, as never more His heart to grieve;
So open lie as largely to receive
The Lord at every lustrous avenue,
And reach Him much more closely than I do:
Must on His Word more deeply reverent gaze;
More fully breathe His life, which trembleth through
My being when before me He displays
His love engirt by that rebuking blaze
Must on His Word more deeply reverent gaze;
More fully breathe His life, which trembleth through
My being when before me He displays
His love engirt by that rebuking blaze
That awes the more at every interview,
Yet leaves a blessing holy and most sweet
But now my desolate life is incomplete.
I must in God mine old delight renew;
I must behold Him nearer than I do.
Yet leaves a blessing holy and most sweet
But now my desolate life is incomplete.
I must in God mine old delight renew;
I must behold Him nearer than I do.
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XX. April.
My mind is towards the dwellings of my Lord,
Whereto the faithful joyfully repair
To offer in devout, divine accord
Their gifts to Him Who gave them,—the All-fair;
Their prayers to the Prayer-hearer Who is there.
Whereto the faithful joyfully repair
To offer in devout, divine accord
Their gifts to Him Who gave them,—the All-fair;
Their prayers to the Prayer-hearer Who is there.
They join their voices in what beauteous strains!
In them, Himself revealing, the Most High,
How strong, how sweet intensity attains!
How large above them, there, His vivid eye!
How deep, how dear, the comfort that He deigns!
In them, Himself revealing, the Most High,
How strong, how sweet intensity attains!
How large above them, there, His vivid eye!
How deep, how dear, the comfort that He deigns!
There, inward music glorifies the hour;
There, in glad cheer they sit, and, sitting, sing,
And, singing, inly rise, and, rising, tower
Above the summit of each selfish thing,
Into the Saviour's Wisdom, Love, and Power.
There, in glad cheer they sit, and, sitting, sing,
And, singing, inly rise, and, rising, tower
Above the summit of each selfish thing,
Into the Saviour's Wisdom, Love, and Power.
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Love, Wisdom, Power, supreme, ineffable!
The Way, the Truth, the Life, for ever blest!
Yea, with His saints, so gather'd, it is well,
When His acceptance them doth circumvest,
And they within His awful secret dwell.
The Way, the Truth, the Life, for ever blest!
Yea, with His saints, so gather'd, it is well,
When His acceptance them doth circumvest,
And they within His awful secret dwell.
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XXI. May.
How beautiful it is to be alive!
To wake each morn as if the Maker's grace
Did us afresh from nothingness derive
That we might sing ‘How happy is our case!
How beautiful it is to be alive!’
To wake each morn as if the Maker's grace
Did us afresh from nothingness derive
That we might sing ‘How happy is our case!
How beautiful it is to be alive!’
To read in God's great Book, until we feel
Love for the love that gave it; then to kneel
Close unto Him Whose truth our souls will shrive,
While every moment's joy doth more reveal
How beautiful it is to be alive.
Love for the love that gave it; then to kneel
Close unto Him Whose truth our souls will shrive,
While every moment's joy doth more reveal
How beautiful it is to be alive.
Rather to go without what might increase
Our worldly standing, than our souls deprive
Of frequent speech with God, or than to cease
To feel, through having wasted health or peace,
How beautiful it is to be alive.
Our worldly standing, than our souls deprive
Of frequent speech with God, or than to cease
To feel, through having wasted health or peace,
How beautiful it is to be alive.
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Not to forget, when pain and grief draw nigh,
Into the ocean of time past to dive
For memories of God's mercies, or to try
To bear all sweetly, hoping still to cry
‘How beautiful it is to be alive!’
Into the ocean of time past to dive
For memories of God's mercies, or to try
To bear all sweetly, hoping still to cry
‘How beautiful it is to be alive!’
Thus ever towards man's height of nobleness
Strive still some new progression to contrive;
Till, just as any other friend's, we press
Death's hand; and, having died, feel none the less
How beautiful it is to be alive.
Strive still some new progression to contrive;
Till, just as any other friend's, we press
Death's hand; and, having died, feel none the less
How beautiful it is to be alive.
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XXII. June.
Prayer is the world-plant's blossom, the bright flower,
A higher purpose of the stem and leaves;—
Or call it the church-spire, whose top receives
Such lightning calm as comforts, not aggrieves,
And with it brings the fructifying shower.
A higher purpose of the stem and leaves;—
Or call it the church-spire, whose top receives
Such lightning calm as comforts, not aggrieves,
And with it brings the fructifying shower.
Prayer is the hand that catcheth hold on peace;—
Nay, 'tis the very heart of nobleness
Whose pulses are the measure of the stress
Wherewith He doth us, we do Him, possess:
If these should fail, all our true life would cease.
Nay, 'tis the very heart of nobleness
Whose pulses are the measure of the stress
Wherewith He doth us, we do Him, possess:
If these should fail, all our true life would cease.
Who live in prayer a friend shall never miss;
If we should slip, a timely staff and kind
Placed in our grasp by hands unseen shall find;
Sometimes upon our foreheads a soft kiss,
And arms cast round us gently from behind.
If we should slip, a timely staff and kind
Placed in our grasp by hands unseen shall find;
Sometimes upon our foreheads a soft kiss,
And arms cast round us gently from behind.
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XXIII. July.
How beautiful our lives may be, how bright
In privilege, how fruitful of delight!
For we of love have endless revenue;
And, if we grieve, 'tis not as infants do
That wake and find no mother in the night.
In privilege, how fruitful of delight!
For we of love have endless revenue;
And, if we grieve, 'tis not as infants do
That wake and find no mother in the night.
They put their little hands about, and weep
Because they find mere air, or but the bed
Whereon they lie; but we may rest, instead,
For ever on His bosom, Who doth keep
Our lives alike safe, when we wake, and sleep.
Because they find mere air, or but the bed
Whereon they lie; but we may rest, instead,
For ever on His bosom, Who doth keep
Our lives alike safe, when we wake, and sleep.
And lo! all round us gleam the angelic bands,
Swift messengers of Providence all-wise,
With frowning brows, perhaps, for their disguise,
But with what springs of love within the eyes,
And what strong rescue hidden in the hands!
Swift messengers of Providence all-wise,
With frowning brows, perhaps, for their disguise,
But with what springs of love within the eyes,
And what strong rescue hidden in the hands!
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And our lives may in glory move along,
First, holy-white, and then with goodness fair
For our dear Lord to see;—the keenest thong
Of all that whips us, welcome; and the air
Our spirits breathe, self-shaped into a song.
First, holy-white, and then with goodness fair
For our dear Lord to see;—the keenest thong
Of all that whips us, welcome; and the air
Our spirits breathe, self-shaped into a song.
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XXIV. August.
A little lowly gate;—through this we go
Forth into truth divine with love ablaze;
Therein He leads us on through wondrous ways
Ineffable. Whatever spirit prays,
That low gate entering, is exalted so.
Forth into truth divine with love ablaze;
Therein He leads us on through wondrous ways
Ineffable. Whatever spirit prays,
That low gate entering, is exalted so.
Out in the garden of the Word, that wide
Glad paradise, we are borne on by prayer;
There do we breathe air high and glorified,
And, He updrawing us, attain the fair
Ascending terraces, and prosper there.
Glad paradise, we are borne on by prayer;
There do we breathe air high and glorified,
And, He updrawing us, attain the fair
Ascending terraces, and prosper there.
O prosperous above all measure, those
His good and faithful servants, self-abhorr d,
Who enter in the joy of their dear Lord,—
Joy that in others' welfare centres, grows
In others' gain, in others' joy o'erflows.
His good and faithful servants, self-abhorr d,
Who enter in the joy of their dear Lord,—
Joy that in others' welfare centres, grows
In others' gain, in others' joy o'erflows.
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In heaven, to rise, is to augment the store
Of power to enrich the poorest, and defend
The weakest, through the widest, nearest door.
How else could Christ's redeem'd endure to ascend
From height to happier height for evermore?
Of power to enrich the poorest, and defend
The weakest, through the widest, nearest door.
How else could Christ's redeem'd endure to ascend
From height to happier height for evermore?
| Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton | |