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Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.

By Rose’s Diary (1850). “Late on me, weeping, did this whisper fall”

Henry Septimus Sutton (1825–1901)

LATE on me, weeping, did this whisper fall:—

“Dear child, there is no need to weep at all.

Why go about to grieve and to despair?

Why weep now through thy future’s eyes, and bear

Vainly to-day to-morrow’s load of care?

“Mine is thy welfare. Ev’n the storms fulfil,

On those who love Me, none but My decrees.

Lightning shall not strike thee against My will;

And I, thy Lord, can save thee when I please

From quaking earth and the devouring seas.

“Why be so dull, so slow to understand?

The more thou trustest Me, the more can flow

My love, and thou, a jewel in My hand,

Shalt richer be; whence thou canst never go

So softly slipping, but that I shall know.

“If thou should’st seem to slip,—if griefs and pains

And death assail,—for thee there yet remains

My love, which lets them, and which surely will

Thee reinstate where thou a place shalt fill

Inviolate, for ever steadfast still.”

“Father!” (I said) “I do accept Thy word.

To perfect trust in Thee now am I stirr’d

By the dear gracious saying I have heard.”

And, having said this, fell a peace so deep

Into my heart, what could I do but weep?