| Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907. | | | | “God draws a cloud over each gleaming morn” | | By Frances Power Cobbe (1822–1904) |
| | | | “Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him.” |
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GOD draws a cloud over each gleaming morn,— | |
| Wouldst thou ask why? | |
| It is because all noblest things are born | |
| In agony. | |
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| Only upon some cross of pain or woe | 5 |
| God’s Son may lie: | |
| Each soul redeemed from self and sin must know | |
| Its Calvary. | |
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| Yet we must crave neither for joy nor grief; | |
| God chooses best: | 10 |
| He only knows our sick souls’ best relief, | |
| And gives us rest. | |
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| More than our feeble hearts can ever pine | |
| For holiness, | |
| That Father in His tenderness divine, | 15 |
| Yearneth to bless. | |
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| He never sends a joy not meant in love, | |
| Still less a pain: | |
| Our gratitude the sunlight falls to prove; | |
| Our faith, the rain. | 20 |
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| In His hands we are safe. We falter on | |
| Through storm and mire: | |
| Above, beside, around us, there is One | |
| Will never tire. | |
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| What though we fall,—and bruised and wounded lie, | 25 |
| Our lips in dust! | |
| God’s arm shall lift us up to victory! | |
| In Him we trust. | |
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| For neither life nor death, nor things below, | |
| Nor things above, | 30 |
| Can ever sever us, that we should go | |
| From His great love. | | | |
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