The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
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HYMN
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| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
60
HYMN
[Through the foaming white-lipped surges]
Through the foaming white-lipped surges,
Great All-Father, steer us on.
Pain behind us stings and scourges;
In the sky the sun gleams wan.
Great All-Father, steer us on.
Pain behind us stings and scourges;
In the sky the sun gleams wan.
All our lives are blent with sorrow;
Not one heart doth understand.
When we sleep, we dread the morrow;
Stretch thou forth thy strong right hand!
Not one heart doth understand.
When we sleep, we dread the morrow;
Stretch thou forth thy strong right hand!
Songs and flowers and sunsets fail us
And the sweet God hidden in these.
When pain's barbed red points assail us,
Worthless is the singing breeze.
And the sweet God hidden in these.
When pain's barbed red points assail us,
Worthless is the singing breeze.
Helpless is a rose to aid us
When our feet grief's wild ways tread;
When despair's fierce spears invade us,
And the hopes of youth fall dead.
When our feet grief's wild ways tread;
When despair's fierce spears invade us,
And the hopes of youth fall dead.
61
Lift thou then, thou great All-Father,
Thy majestic helping hand!
All our weary spirits gather
Towards thine own eternal land.
Thy majestic helping hand!
All our weary spirits gather
Towards thine own eternal land.
Not one flower's exceeding splendour
Helps a torn soul on its way:
Thou, than all flowers far more tender,
Change the darkness into day!
Helps a torn soul on its way:
Thou, than all flowers far more tender,
Change the darkness into day!
O'er cold mount, through moonless hollow,
O'er lone seas, our footsteps tend.
God, thy banner we would follow!
Yet is death the awful end?
O'er lone seas, our footsteps tend.
God, thy banner we would follow!
Yet is death the awful end?
Past the peaks where stars wax breathless,
Past all heights man dimly knows,
Lift us: blend with ours thy deathless
Fathomless divine repose.
Past all heights man dimly knows,
Lift us: blend with ours thy deathless
Fathomless divine repose.
November, 1881.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |