EACH fearful storm that o'er us rolls, Each path of peril trod, Is but a means whereby our souls Acquaint themselves with God. Our want and weakness, shame and sin, His pitying kindness prove; And all our lives are folded in The mystery of his love. The grassy land, the flowering trees, The waters, wild and dim, -- These are the cloud of witnesses That testify of Him. His sun is shining, sure and fast, O'er all our nights of dread; Our darkness by his light, at last Shall be interpreted. No promise shall He fail to keep Until we see his face; E'en death is but a tender sleep In the eternal race. Time's empty shadow cheats our eyes, But all the heavens declare The substance of the things we prize Is there and only there. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PALACE OF ART by ALFRED TENNYSON LAODAMIA by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH FASHION; A DIALOGUE by JAMES HAY BEATTIE THE OLD GHOST by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES FALSORUM DEORUM CULTOR by WILLIAM ROSE BENET IN THE HIGH HILLS by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE THE DARK VISITOR by ANNE MILLAY BREMER THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: A REMEMBRANCE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |