 | Songs for Sufferers |  |
24
MY GUARDIAN ANGELS.
They have no weapons, their eyes are dim
With a sorrow they cannot utter,
And they never come to an idle whim;
But their strength is of sworded Cherubim,
And they feel the lone heart's least flutter.
In my fettered state they are more than Fate,
For they keep my prison and guard the gate.
With a sorrow they cannot utter,
And they never come to an idle whim;
But their strength is of sworded Cherubim,
And they feel the lone heart's least flutter.
In my fettered state they are more than Fate,
For they keep my prison and guard the gate.
They only are Cares I have lived with long,
Who know me and every weakness,
Dear sadnesses love hath turned to song;
And have held me back when a-straying wrong,
Sheer victors from very meekness.
But I would not will, for their frailty still,
Was an armed host with its thunder thrill.
Who know me and every weakness,
Dear sadnesses love hath turned to song;
And have held me back when a-straying wrong,
Sheer victors from very meekness.
But I would not will, for their frailty still,
Was an armed host with its thunder thrill.
They never sleep, they have wondrous ways,
And their breath is so often bitter,
When they veil with a cloud the brightest days;
But it's then the eternal music plays,
In the storm or the swallow's twitter.
In each wrinkled line is a hard-won shrine,
And their faces grave have a Grace Divine!
And their breath is so often bitter,
When they veil with a cloud the brightest days;
But it's then the eternal music plays,
In the storm or the swallow's twitter.
In each wrinkled line is a hard-won shrine,
And their faces grave have a Grace Divine!
| Songs for Sufferers | |