Smith, Effie Waller
|SONGS OF THE MONTHS.|
|HE LEADETH ME.|
When cloudless and sunlit skies o'erspread
Their azure robes above my head,
When 'bout my pathway flowers grow
Richer than the Orient's blooms,
Than the Orient's sweet perfumes:
'Tis pleasant then His will to know.
When winds are still and when the air
Is filled with music sweet and rare,
Far sweeter than the sirens knew
Far sweeter strains than ever came
From Orpheus' harp wild beasts to tame:
'Tis pleasant then His will to do.
But, oh, when dark and threat'ning clouds
My once fair sunlit sky enshrouds,
And when bright flowers I do not see,
When winds like maddened billows roar,
When music charms my ears no more,--
You ask how it's then with me?
How is it then my pathway's strewn
With sharpened stone and prickly thorn,
Darkness about me, daylight gone?
It all I cannot understand,
But with my hand in His own hand
I say: "Dear Father, lead me on."