 | Annie Weir and Other Poems |  |
35
GRATITUDE.
O Thou that rul'st the storm, and wisely rein'st
The war-steed Desolation, rescuing
From his raised hoof the poor,
Who marked with life our door,
And saved us, God of every good,
Let us before Thee pour our gratitude.
The war-steed Desolation, rescuing
From his raised hoof the poor,
Who marked with life our door,
And saved us, God of every good,
Let us before Thee pour our gratitude.
Forgive, O God! the discontent which rose
Within our sinking hearts, when we had seen
The idle plough fast bound
In the snow-mantled ground
From weary week to week, and saw
No sign that told us of the coming thaw.
Within our sinking hearts, when we had seen
The idle plough fast bound
In the snow-mantled ground
From weary week to week, and saw
No sign that told us of the coming thaw.
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Forgive our lack of faith—the thoughts which oft,
In murmuring speech expressed, told all who heard
That we had ceased to see
Omniscience in Thee,
And dared to turn our eyes above
And doubt Thy goodness and preserving love.
In murmuring speech expressed, told all who heard
That we had ceased to see
Omniscience in Thee,
And dared to turn our eyes above
And doubt Thy goodness and preserving love.
We saw a happier race speed daily forth
To pleasure on the lakes, returning thence
With feasting, cups, and song,
The evening to prolong;—
That made our little nothing less,
But all our thoughts were thoughts of bitterness.
To pleasure on the lakes, returning thence
With feasting, cups, and song,
The evening to prolong;—
That made our little nothing less,
But all our thoughts were thoughts of bitterness.
The robin sat upon our sill and sang,
Like one that hoped, though hungry; but in us
His heaven-taught melody
No hope inspired, for we,
The while we listened to his strain,
Thought of our wants, and of the snow-hid drain.
Like one that hoped, though hungry; but in us
His heaven-taught melody
No hope inspired, for we,
The while we listened to his strain,
Thought of our wants, and of the snow-hid drain.
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But suddenly Thou bad'st the warm winds blow,
And down the flood came sweeping. Tiny streams
The storm-chained plough unbound,
And coltsfoot flowers were found,
And larks the showery mornings hailed,
And all the hills appeared again unveiled;
And down the flood came sweeping. Tiny streams
The storm-chained plough unbound,
And coltsfoot flowers were found,
And larks the showery mornings hailed,
And all the hills appeared again unveiled;
And the green fields were softened, and our spades
Were labour-polished; glowed with toil our hands,
And plenteous, though poor,
The morning meal came sure;
Our children answered to our call,
A little thinner each, but living all.
Were labour-polished; glowed with toil our hands,
And plenteous, though poor,
The morning meal came sure;
Our children answered to our call,
A little thinner each, but living all.
| Annie Weir and Other Poems | |