So be it, God, I take what Thou dost give, And gladly give what Thou dost take away. For me Thy choice is barren days and grey. Unquestioning Thy ordered days I live, I do not seek to sift in Reason's sieve - Thou rangest far beyond our Reason's sway. We are but poor, uncomprehending clay, For Thou to mould as Thou dost well conceive.
But when my blanched days of sorrow end, And this poor clay for funeral is drest, Then shall my soul to Thy Gold Gate ascend, Then shall my soul soar up and summon Thee To tell me why. And as Thou answerest, So shall I judge Thee, God, not Thou judge me.
From the Somme
- by Leslie Coulson28
In other days I sang of simple things, Of summer dawn, and summer noon and night, The dewy grass, the dew wet fairy rings, The larks long golden flight.
Deep in the forest I made melody While squirrels cracked their hazel nuts on high, Or I would cross the wet sand to the sea And sing to sea and sky.
When came the silvered silence of the night I stole to casements over scented lawns, And softly sang of love and love's delight To mute white marble fauns.
Oft in the tavern parlour I would sing Of morning sun upon the mountain vine, And, calling for a chorus, sweep the string In praise of good red wine.
I played with all the toys the gods provide, I sang my songs and made glad holiday Mow I have cast my broken toys aside And flung my lute away.
A singer once, I now am fain to weep, Within my soul I feel strange music swell, Vast chants of tragedy too deep - too deep For my poor lips to tell.
Poems by Leslie Coulson, Leslie Coulson's poems collection. Leslie Coulson is a classical and famous poet (1889 - 1916 / England). Share all poems of Leslie Coulson.