Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By From Year to Year (1883). II. The Meadow GrassEdward Henry Bickersteth (18251906)
T
With gold and purple hues besprent;
It recks not of to-morrow’s scythe,
Rich in its lavish bloom and scent;
The sun is warm, the evening gay,
Who speaks of aught but life to-day?
By troops of rosy-figur’d hours,
Its path of merriment and song
Still garlanded with new-cut flowers;
And all her children seem to say,
To-morrow will be as to-day.
There are who drink of sorrow’s springs,
And answer to their bleeding heart
That heart’s persistent questionings,
“Is there no harvest far away
Of seed we sow in tears to-day?”
Grows faint and fainter year by year,
And things to come are shadowing time,
And soon the Master will be here:
God grant us crown’d by Him to say,
Eternity is ours to-day.