The Complete Poetical Works. Томас Харди

Чтение книги онлайн.

      The Bedridden Peasant

       To an Unknowing God

       Table of Contents

      Much wonder I—here long low-laid—

       That this dead wall should be

       Betwixt the Maker and the made,

       Between Thyself and me!

      For, say one puts a child to nurse,

       He eyes it now and then

       To know if better ’tis, or worse,

       And if it mourn, and when.

      But Thou, Lord, giv’st us men our clay

       In helpless bondage thus

       To Time and Chance, and seem’st straightway

       To think no more of us!

      That some disaster cleft Thy scheme

       And tore us wide apart,

       So that no cry can cross, I deem;

       For Thou art mild of heart,

      And would’st not shape and shut us in

       Where voice can not he heard:

       ’Tis plain Thou meant’st that we should win

       Thy succour by a word.

      Might but Thy sense flash down the skies

       Like man’s from clime to clime,

       Thou would’st not let me agonize

       Through my remaining time;

      But, seeing how much Thy creatures bear—

       Lame, starved, or maimed, or blind—

       Thou’dst heal the ills with quickest care

       Of me and all my kind.

      Then, since Thou mak’st not these things be,

       But these things dost not know,

       I’ll praise Thee as were shown to me

       The mercies Thou would’st show!