“THE CLOUDS RETURN AFTER THE RAIN.”
Dark and yet darker my day’s clouded o’er;
Are its bright joys all fled, and its sunshine no more?
I look to the skies for the bright bow in vain,
For constantly “clouds return after the rain.”
Must it always be thus, peace banished forever,
And joy to this sad heart returned again never?
I long for the rest that I cannot obtain,
For the clouds, so much dreaded, return after rain.
Is there not in this wide world one spot that is blessed
With exemption from suffering, where one may find rest;
Where sickness and sorrow no entranpe can gain,
And the clouds do not return after the rain?
Ah! deceive not thyself by a vain hope like this,
Nor expect in this world to enjoy lasting peace:
But bow with submission to God’s holy will,
For the hand that afflicts is thy kind Father’s still.
If my days are dark here, there are brighter above,
In those pure realms of light, peace, joy, and of love;
Where the air is all balm, and the skies ever fair,
And the river of life, clear as crystal flows there.
There also, for healing the nations, are found
The leaves of the tree on which rich fruits abound;
There is no need of candle, for God is their light,
There never is darkness, for “there is no night.”
Oh! may I there find, when this brief life is past,
By my Saviour prepared, a sweet home at last;
Where sin never enters, death, sorrow, nor care,
And clouds are not feared, for it never rains there.
August 19, 1852.
Lo the curtains of night around Palestine fall,
And Jerusalem’s streets into darkness are thrown;
The late-busy hum of men’s voices is hushed,
And the city is clad in dark livery alone.
But see through the dimness that half opened door,
And slowly emerging a figure behold;
A quick, furtive glance he has thrown all around,
For what is he thirsting, for blood, or for gold?
Stealthily, fearfully, onward he moves,
So light are his footsteps you scarce hear their tread;
Yet no midnight robber, no murderer is he,
Then why dread recognition—of man why afraid?
Let us follow his footsteps and learn where he goes;
And now at the door of a house see him stand;
But why wait so long ere admittance he seeks,
In attempting to knock, why trembles that hand?
He has come to the fountain of light and of life,
Before whom ne’er suppliant sued humbly in vain;
He has come for the knowledge that alone maketh rich,
And without which we’re poor, though the whole world we gain.
He has come to learn wisdom of that lowly one,
Who spake as “never man spake” it was said;
And who, though so poor and despised among men,
Is the whole world’s Sustainer, creation’s great Head.