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 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
Early Faith.
Whom hear we tell of all the joy which loving Faith can bring,
The ever-widening glories reached on her strong seraph wing?
Is it not oftenest they who long have wrestled with temptation,
Or passed through fiery baptisms of mighty tribulation?
The ever-widening glories reached on her strong seraph wing?
60
Or passed through fiery baptisms of mighty tribulation?
Perhaps, in life's great tapestry, the darkest scenes are where
The golden threads of Faith glance forth most radiant and fair;
And gazing on the coming years, which unknown griefs may bring,
We hail the lamp which o'er them all shall heavenly lustre fling.
The golden threads of Faith glance forth most radiant and fair;
And gazing on the coming years, which unknown griefs may bring,
We hail the lamp which o'er them all shall heavenly lustre fling.
Thank God! there is at eventide a gleam of ruby light,
A star of love amid the gloom of sorrow's lingering night,
An ivy-wreath upon the tomb, a haven in the blast,
A staff for weary, trembling ones, when youth and health are past.
A star of love amid the gloom of sorrow's lingering night,
An ivy-wreath upon the tomb, a haven in the blast,
A staff for weary, trembling ones, when youth and health are past.
But shall we seek the diamonds in the lone and dusky mine,
When 'mid the sunny sands of youth they wait to flash and shine?
Neglect the fountain of Christ's joy till woe-streams darkly flow,
Nor seek a Father's smile until the world's cold frown we know?
When 'mid the sunny sands of youth they wait to flash and shine?
Neglect the fountain of Christ's joy till woe-streams darkly flow,
Nor seek a Father's smile until the world's cold frown we know?
Nay! be our faith the rosy crown on morn's unwrinkled brow,
The sparkling dewdrop on the grass, the blossom on the bough;
The gleam of pearly light within the snowy-bosomed shell;
An added power of loveliness in beauty's every spell.
The sparkling dewdrop on the grass, the blossom on the bough;
61
An added power of loveliness in beauty's every spell.
Oh, let it be the sunlight of the pleasant summer hours,
That calls to pure and radiant birth unnumbered fragrant flowers;
That bathes in golden joyance every anthem-murmuring tree,
And spreads a robe of glory o'er the silver-crested sea.
That calls to pure and radiant birth unnumbered fragrant flowers;
That bathes in golden joyance every anthem-murmuring tree,
And spreads a robe of glory o'er the silver-crested sea.
Oh, let it be the key-note of the symphony of gladness,
Which wots not of the broken lyre, the requiem of sadness:
For they who melodies of heaven in hours of brightness know,
Will modulate sweet harmony from earth's discordant woe.
Which wots not of the broken lyre, the requiem of sadness:
For they who melodies of heaven in hours of brightness know,
Will modulate sweet harmony from earth's discordant woe.
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |