Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Rainy Tuesday Poem

From John Greenleaf Whittier's "Last Walks in Autumn"

  Then let the icy north-wind blow 
    The trumpets of the coming storm,
  To arrowy sleet and blinding snow 
    Yon slanting lines of rain transform.
  Young hearts shall hail the drifted cold 
  As gayly as I did of old;
And I, who watch them through the frosty pane,
Unenvious, live in them my boyhood o’er again.


  And I will trust that He who heeds 
    The life that hides in mead and wold,
  Who hangs yon alder’s crimson beads, 
    And stains these mosses green and gold,
  Will still, as He hath done, incline 
  His gracious care to me and mine;
Grant what we ask aright, from wrong debar,
And, as the earth grows dark, make brighter every star!


  I have not seen, I may not see, 
    My hopes for man take form in act,
  But God will give the victory 
    in due time; in that faith I act.
  And he who sees the future sure, 
  the baffling present may endure,
And bless, meanwhile, the unseen Hand that leads
The heart's desires beyond the halting step of deeds.

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