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SOME BETTER THING

Tho wintry wind the yellow leaf displaceth,
For spring’s sweet harbingers it maketh room;—
Ere long the tender bud the forest graceth,
New verdure waketh from old Nature’s tomb.

The snowy blossom from the orchard fadeth,
‘Tis then the earnest of fair fruit we find;
Tho morning mist the landscape overshadeth,
The sunlit mountain-peaks are just behind.

Lo, in the crimson West the glory dieth,
And from his throne Day’s monarch hath withdrawn!
Herein the promise of the sunrise lieth—
Already we are waiting for the dawn.

O heart bereaved, some better thing remaineth,
Tho God should seem thy treasures to remove;
Some better thing his gracious hand retaineth,
He will not fail the children of his love.

Some better thing! Thy life-joy all departed—
Its glory trailing sadly in the dust;
O cleave to him,—the Savior tender-hearted;
Thou canst not understand, but thou canst trust.

Perchance he leads to depths of self-abasement,
And storms awake, and billows round thee roll;
Give thanks! Contrition is the open casement
Through which the Dove of Peace shall reach thy soul.

O patient heart, thy best, thy brightest bringing,
With full consent upon his altar lay!
Some fair new blessing even now is winging,
All unobserved, its sure but noiseless way.

Thy purpose crossed, each sunny prospect clouded,
Still to his changeless promise learn to cling;
Altho his ways may be in darkness shrouded,
Jehovah hath reserved some better thing.
—LUCY A. BENNETT

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— August 1, 1898 —