| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
FABER'S HYMNS. |
||
|
Thou comest, Autumn, to unlade Thy wealthy freight of summer shade, Still sorrowful as in past years, Yet mild and sunny in thy tears, Ripening and hardening all thy growth Of solid wood, yet nothing loath To waste upon the frolic breeze Thy leaves, like flights of golden bees.
Have I laid by from summer hours Ripe fruits as well as leaves and flowers ? Hath my past year a growth to harden, As well as fewer sins to pardon ? Is God in all things more and more A king within me than before? I know not, yet one change hath come,— The world feels less and less a home.
My soul appears, as I get old, More prompt in act, in prayer less cold; Crosses, from use, more lightly press ; Mirth is more purely weariness ; With less to quarrel with in life, I grow less patient with its strife; I wish more simply, Lord! to be, Ailing or well, always with Thee! |
||