Adelaide Anne Procter (1825 – 1864)
English poet, the eldest daughter of the poet Bryan Procter.
How can a mother's heart feel cold or weary
Knowing her dearer self safe, sheltered, warm?
How can she feel her road too dark or dreary,
Who knows her treasure sheltered from the storm?
How can she sin? Our hearts may be unheeding,
Our God forgot, our holy saints defied;
But can a mother hear her dead child pleading,
And thrust those little angel hands aside?
I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the Organ,
And entered into mine.
If thou couldst trust, poor soul!
In Him who rules the whole,
Thou wouldst find peace and rest;
Wisdom and sight are well, but trust is best.
I do not ask my cross to understand
My way to see:
Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand
And follow Thee.
Words are mighty, words are living:
Serpents with their venomous stings,
Or bright angels, crowding round us,
With heaven's light upon their wings:
Every word has its own spirit,
True or false, that never dies;
Every word man's lips have uttered
Echoes in God's skies.
I wept that all must die —
"Yet Love," I cried, "doth live, and conquer death —"
And Time passed by,
And breathed on Love, and killed it with his breath
Ere Death was nigh.
Dreams grow holy put in action; work grows fair through starry dreaming,
But where each flows on unmingling, both are fruitless and in vain.
It quieted pain and sorrow,
Like love overcoming strife;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.
Rejoice, oh! grieving heart,
The hours fly past;
With each some sorrow dies,
With each some shadow flies,
Until at last
The red dawn in the east
Bids weary night depart,
And pain is past.
Shine, ye stars of heaven,
On a world of pain!
See old Time destroying
All our hoarded gain;
All our sweetest flowers,
Every stately shrine,
All our hard-earned glory,
Every dream divine!
I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be
A pleasant road.
I do not ask that Thou wouldst take from me
Aught of its load;
Hours are golden links, God's token
Reaching heaven; but one by one
Take them, lest the chain be broken
Ere the pilgrimage be done.
Joy is like restless day; but peace divine
Like quiet night;
Lead me, O Lord, — till perfect Day shall shine
Through Peace to Light.
A little longer still, and Heaven awaits thee,
And fills thy spirit with a great delight;
Then our pale joys will seem a dream forgotten,
Our Sun a darkness, and our Day a Night.
I do not ask that flowers should always spring
Beneath my feet
I know too well the poison and the sting
Of things too sweet.
The way is long and dreary,
The path is bleak and bare;
Our feet are worn and weary,
But we will not despair;
More weary was Thy burden,
More desolate Thy ways,
O Lamb of God, who takest
The sin of the world away,
Have mercy upon us.
Kind hearts are here; yet would the tenderest one
Have limits to its mercy; God has none.
Be strong to love, O Heart!
Love knows not wrong;
Didst thou love — creatures even,
Life were not long;
Didst thou love God in heaven,
Thou wouldst be strong!
Be strong to hope, O Heart!
Though day is bright,
The stars can only shine
In the dark night.
Be strong, O Heart of mine,
Look towards the light!
Seated one day at the organ,
I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the noisy keys.