Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By God draws a cloud over each gleaming mornFrances Power Cobbe (18221904)
G
Wouldst thou ask why?
It is because all noblest things are born
In agony.
God’s Son may lie:
Each soul redeemed from self and sin must know
Its Calvary.
God chooses best:
He only knows our sick souls’ best relief,
And gives us rest.
For holiness,
That Father in His tenderness divine,
Yearneth to bless.
Still less a pain:
Our gratitude the sunlight falls to prove;
Our faith, the rain.
Through storm and mire:
Above, beside, around us, there is One
Will never tire.
Our lips in dust!
God’s arm shall lift us up to victory!
In Him we trust.
Nor things above,
Can ever sever us, that we should go
From His great love.