Blair Collection > Poems and songs

VERSES FROM MY SCRAP-BOOK.
Unto me this plant was given
By His hand who all things know
And it must be meant for Heaven,
If on earth it cannot grow.
Suffering ones, who oft in weeping
Do their seedlings sow and tend,
Still expect a time of reaping.
Trusting Him who knows the end.
So I'll keep my precious flowei'.
Tending it with smile and tear,
Waiting for the golden hour
"When its blossoms must appear.
When our heart's deep love is slighted
By those for whose smiles we languish.
When our fondest hopes are blighted.
And high swell the waves of anguish.
Why should we be found repining
Though our souls are deep in sorrow Ì
Hope's bright star is sweetly shining
On the pale brow of the morrow.
Though the dearest ties are broken,
Though by all the world forsaken.
Though the cruel word is spoken
By the lips that joy could waken,
Why should we be found repining]
Far above each cloud of sorrow
Hope's bright star is sweetly shining
On the pale brow of the morrow.
What about life's ceaseless battle Ì
Let our course be ever onward ;
Words of strife like children's prattle
Sound, when we look sky-ward, sunward.
Still there is a silvery lining
To the darkest cloud of sorrow ;
Hope's bright star is sweetly shining
On the pale brow of to-morrow.