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CCCXLII

FOR THE DESOLATE

H. S. Sutton

When thy lone dreams sweet visions see,

And loving looks upon thee shine,

And loving lips speak joys to thee

That never, never may be thine;

275

Then press thy hand hard on thy side,

And force down all the swelling pain;

Trust me, the wound, however wide,

Shall close at last, and heal again.

Think not of what is from thee kept;

Think, rather, what thou hast received:

Thine eyes have smiled, if they have wept;

Thy heart has danced, if it has grieved.

Rich comforts yet shall be thine own;

Yea, GOD Himself shall wipe thine eyes;

And still His love alike is shown

In what He gives, and what denies.

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