Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By Roses Diary (1850). How beautiful our lives may be!Henry Septimus Sutton (18251901)
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In privilege, how fruitful of delight!
For we of love have endless revenue;
And, if we grieve, ’tis not as infants do
That wake and find no mother in the night.
Because they find mere air, or but the bed
Whereon they lie; but we may rest, instead,
For ever on His bosom, Who doth keep
Our lives alike safe, when we wake, and sleep.
Swift messengers of Providence all-wise,
With frowning brows, perhaps, for their disguise,
But with what springs of love within the eyes,
And what strong rescue hidden in the hands!
First, holy-white, and then with goodness fair
For our dear Lord to see;—the keenest thong
Of all that whips us, welcome: and the air
Our spirits breathe, self-shaped into a song.