 | Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton |  |
178
J. B.
The church sometimes gives heaven men
Of whom with cause heaven might complain
That, though it gets accession then,
'Tis more a getting than a gain.
Of whom with cause heaven might complain
That, though it gets accession then,
'Tis more a getting than a gain.
But now a boon the church imparts;
Heaven with new riches we endow;
One after their own loving hearts
To the good angels give we now.
Heaven with new riches we endow;
One after their own loving hearts
To the good angels give we now.
Not without grief we let him pass;
We are not yet, as angels, good;
To heaven we give what we, alas!
Would have kept from it if we could.
We are not yet, as angels, good;
To heaven we give what we, alas!
Would have kept from it if we could.
For he we mourn was one of those
Whose presence of itself affords
Heart-music that in silence flows,
And comforts more than many words.
Whose presence of itself affords
Heart-music that in silence flows,
And comforts more than many words.
179
His goodness we all have by heart:—
I've known him by a mourner stand
And most unsought-for help impart
By the mere pressure of a hand,—
I've known him by a mourner stand
And most unsought-for help impart
By the mere pressure of a hand,—
A hand that, round the mourner's put
In silence, yet as much hath done
As though 'twere not one only, but
The hand of every friend in one.
In silence, yet as much hath done
As though 'twere not one only, but
The hand of every friend in one.
His trustful heart laid loving stress
On God's love, howsoever tried,
And even in most sore distress
Was sure the Lord would still provide;
On God's love, howsoever tried,
And even in most sore distress
Was sure the Lord would still provide;
And always his life's fact made clear
What his life's theory express'd,
That in the end it will appear
That all is ever for the best.
What his life's theory express'd,
That in the end it will appear
That all is ever for the best.
He had his griefs, like other men;
But to God's will could softly bow,
And, smiling, say, ‘Heaven is not then
And there, but heaven is here and now.
But to God's will could softly bow,
And, smiling, say, ‘Heaven is not then
And there, but heaven is here and now.
180
A happy man whose heart would feel
And head would think for those around;
Ready to find out ills to heal,
As well as heal the ills he found.
And head would think for those around;
Ready to find out ills to heal,
As well as heal the ills he found.
Still towards our Father he ascends;
Still towards our God aspires his way,
Where she, his dearest, and their friends
Angelic, throng the gates of day.
Still towards our God aspires his way,
Where she, his dearest, and their friends
Angelic, throng the gates of day.
To these how thankless and how wrong
Our sorrow for his loss appears!
‘Nay, sing,’ they cry, ‘a grateful song
That ye have had him all these years.
Our sorrow for his loss appears!
‘Nay, sing,’ they cry, ‘a grateful song
That ye have had him all these years.
‘Now more than ever yours indeed,
From him more grandly than before
Shall heavenly influences proceed,
To be your blessing evermore.’
From him more grandly than before
Shall heavenly influences proceed,
To be your blessing evermore.’
October, 1876.
| Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton | |