When I was very young I loved the 1800’s poets and still do.
This poem is a great comfort for those who grieve
and I have known grief.
I cannot see His skies, above,
For Autumn mists obscure the west;
But in the shelter of His love,
I fain would hush my heart to rest;
Though some bright hopes have tenderly
Been gathered to their last repose,
This sweet remembrance comforts me—
For why the summer came —and went
He shows not yet to me, His child;
But patience , richer than content,
Broods softly where the summer smiled;
And where the last bright leaf shall fall,
The last pale blossom find repose,
Is safe with Him Who loveth all—
Amid the hush of finished things
He hears His children’s feeblest prayer,
The tender shadowing of His wings
Extends beyond their utmost care;
And loss that ne’er on earth grows less.
With deep and holy meaning glows,
Since loss and pain, and homelessness—
I cannot tell if cross or crown
Lies next within His thought for me;
It matters not, since faith has grown
So strong in His dear sympathy;
The clouds that o’er my pathway move,
The joys beyond its final close,
All rise from His deep heart of love—
Late 1800’s Unknown poet.