 | Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton |  |
213
THE REASON OF IT.
Ah why, why should the good so often lean
On arms which beats no worthy heart between?
And why should noble hearts so oft be seen
In loneliness and ageing anguish keen
For want of the sweet home that should have been?
On arms which beats no worthy heart between?
And why should noble hearts so oft be seen
In loneliness and ageing anguish keen
For want of the sweet home that should have been?
And souls unselfish, who have gladly done
The generous deeds that have for others won
New scope and happier life beneath the sun,
Why must they, reaping, bind into their sheaf
The night-shades and the hebenon of grief?
The generous deeds that have for others won
New scope and happier life beneath the sun,
Why must they, reaping, bind into their sheaf
The night-shades and the hebenon of grief?
It is because, let man do what he will,
Joy-light requires its sorrow-shadow still;—
It is because away God will not throw
His labour, letting His dear children go
Robb'd of the needful discipline of woe;—
Joy-light requires its sorrow-shadow still;—
It is because away God will not throw
His labour, letting His dear children go
Robb'd of the needful discipline of woe;—
214
It is because of this world's good th' excess,
Ill helping our eternal blessedness,
Is a less worthy God-gift than distress;—
It is because 'tis not well, in His ken,
That we be happy, until we be Men.
Ill helping our eternal blessedness,
Is a less worthy God-gift than distress;—
It is because 'tis not well, in His ken,
That we be happy, until we be Men.
| Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton | |