4
A VOYAGE TO THE FORTUNATE ISLES.
Than the far Heaven "Does not Regret
Walk with us, always, from the door
That shuts behind us, though we leave
Not much to make us grieve?"
Walk with us, always, from the door
That shuts behind us, though we leave
Not much to make us grieve?"
"Why fret me longer, when you know
Our hands with thorny toil are torn?
Scant bread and bitter, heat and snow,
Rude garments, souls too blind and worn
To climb to Christ for comfort: these
Are here. And there—the Seas.
Our hands with thorny toil are torn?
Scant bread and bitter, heat and snow,
Rude garments, souls too blind and worn
To climb to Christ for comfort: these
Are here. And there—the Seas.
"True, our great Lord will let us drink
At some wild springs, and even take
A few slight dew-flowers. But, I think,
He cares not how our hearts may ache.
He comes not to the peasant's hut
To learn—the door is shut.
At some wild springs, and even take
A few slight dew-flowers. But, I think,
He cares not how our hearts may ache.
He comes not to the peasant's hut
To learn—the door is shut.
"Oh, He is an hard Master. Still
In His rough fields, for piteous hire,
To break dry clods is not my will.
I thank Him that my arms can tire.
Let thistles henceforth grow like grain,
To mock His sun and rain.
In His rough fields, for piteous hire,
To break dry clods is not my will.
I thank Him that my arms can tire.
Let thistles henceforth grow like grain,
To mock His sun and rain.
