Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By Sacred Poems. III. “When gathering clouds around I view”Sir Robert Grant (1779–1838)
W
And days are dark, and friends are few
On Him I lean, Who, not in vain,
Experienc’d every human pain;
He sees my wants, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.
From heavenly wisdom’s narrow way,
To fly the good I would pursue,
Or do the sin I would not do,—
Still He, Who felt temptation’s power,
Shall guard me in that dangerous hour.
Deceiv’d by those I prized too well,—
He shall His pitying aid bestow,
Who felt on earth severer woe,
At once betrayed, denied, or fled,
By those who shared His daily bread.
And, sore dismay’d my spirit dies,
Still He Who once vouchsafed to bear
The sickening anguish of despair,
Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry,
The throbbing heart, the streaming eye.
Which covers what was once a friend,
And from his voice, his hand, his smile,
Divides me—for a little while;
Thou, Saviour, mark’st the tears I shed,
For Thou didst weep o’er Lazarus dead.
Through every conflict—but the last,
Still, still unchanging, watch beside
My painful bed—for Thou hast died;
Then point to realms of cloudless day,
And wipe the latest tear away.