Poems (Barker)/Naoma
Naoma.
Oh, call me not Naoma, The Lord, His hand hath laid,In chastening sore upon me, My spirit is dismayed.I went out in the morning, With footsteps glad and gay—I came back in the evening, It is a weary way.
I went out when the dew drops Lay thick upon the lea,I came back in the darkness, The Lord has sent to me.My hands were full at morning, No cloud could I discern—Then call me not Naoma, All empty I return.
Beyond the clouds thick curtain, Beyond the starless night,O God! I pray thy blessing, Upon a morning bright.When to the glorious dawning A brighter joy will come,Because I crossed the valley Upon my journey home.
Then call me not Naoma, Till at the gates I stand,The cloudless, star gemmed curtain, Swept by an angel's hand—Until among the brightness Of that angelic host,The Lord fills up the measure, That here to me is lost.