Winter: Saturday Evening Poem by John Bowring

Lord! to whose being ages are but moments,
Fugitive moments! Thou, Eternal Father!
Listen in mercy-for life's passing shadows
Soon will be scatter'd.


'Tis Thy bright presence makes all nature pregnant,
Pregnant with beauty-'tis Thy sacred presence
Fills all creation.-I am but an atom-
Deign, Lord! to hear me.


Glorious and mighty! Thy right hand of greatness
Upholds existence.-What is man before Thee?
Vanity, ashes-indigence and folly:
Smile, then, benignly!


Fountain of wisdom! Spirit of creation!
Life-source of blessing!-hear the humble praises
Of Thy poor pilgrim, whose short day of sadness
Soon will be over!


Thy searching spirit sees departed ages,
Ages in embryo-ages veil'd in darkness,
Present and future-all alike unravell'd:-
I am but blindness.


Highly exalted on Thy throne of glory,
Being unchanging! do Thou help my weakness
From the o'erflowings of Thy strength, O Father!
Help Thou my weakness.


'Tis Thy proud arm that yon abyss divideth,
Blots out the planets, gives the stars their splendour,
Rules o'er infinity, uncontroll'd and mighty;-
I am as nothing.


E'en the plumed songster, wandering thro' creation;
E'en the poor insect, living in the sunbeam;
E'en the scorn'd earth-worm, at our feet extended,
All share Thy mercy.


Deign, then, to hear me, Father! deign to bless me!
Nothing too lowly for Thy smiles benignant;
Nothing too trifling for Thy care, Thy kindness-
I, too, may share them.


Infinite Being-Living One! Eternal!
Wise and unchanging-Father, Holy Father!
Look from Thy throne of brightness and of glory
On this Thy suppliant!