 | Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton |  |
72
‘THOUGH HE SLAY ME, YET WILL I TRUST IN HIM.’
What if I perish, after all,
And lose this life, Thy gracious boon?
Let me not fear that I shall fall
And die too soon.
And lose this life, Thy gracious boon?
Let me not fear that I shall fall
And die too soon.
I cannot fall till Thou dost let,
Nor die, except at Thy command.
Low let me lie, my Father, yet
Beneath Thy hand.
Nor die, except at Thy command.
Low let me lie, my Father, yet
Beneath Thy hand.
'Tis good to think, though I decrease,
Thou dost not, Lord, decrease with me.
What matters it that I must cease,
Since Thou must be?
Thou dost not, Lord, decrease with me.
What matters it that I must cease,
Since Thou must be?
73
The life Thou willedst me I use
To thank Thee for that gracious will;—
If I must lose it, I would choose
To thank Thee still.
To thank Thee for that gracious will;—
If I must lose it, I would choose
To thank Thee still.
No more might I lift prayerful eyes,
Or sway a tongue to grateful tones;
Yet should a noise of praise still rise
Even from my bones.
Or sway a tongue to grateful tones;
Yet should a noise of praise still rise
Even from my bones.
| Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton | |