TROUBLE.
The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble.—Psalm xx. 1.
In the day of my trouble I will call upon thee: for thou wilt answer me.—Psalm lxxxvi. 7.
I cried unto the Lord with my voice; with my voice unto the Lord did I make my supplication.
I poured out my complaint before him; I shewed before him my trouble.—Psalm cxlii. 1, 2.
From out of the depths of misery I cry
To Thee O Lord, and that most earnestly,
Prayers intermixed with sighs and tears
My soul sends up into Thine ears.
I pour out all my moan
Before Thee, Thee alone,
And for relief
Show Thee my grief.
Lord, when my troubled spirit could not rest
For anguish of my mind, Thou knowest best
What way to help me, and did see
A path through all to set me free.
Thy foes, and mine, do lay
Snares for me, in my way
One did privily
In ambush lie.
I looked on every side, but I could see
None who would know, and much less succour me.
My friends revolted totally,
On whom I used to rely;
All ways to ’scape by flight
Were stopped, and shut up quite,
And none did care
My soul to spare.
Thus troubled; laid on wait for; desolate;
Enclosed around; and thus disconsolate;
I cried to Thee, O Lord, and said,
Thou art my hope, my help, my aid,
The rock I build upon;
My lot, my portion,
For this life, and
A better land.
Joseph Bunyan.
When the heart is sore smitten by sorrow,
And the bosom is darksome and drear,
And when bright hope no longer may borrow
A smile from the future to cheer;
And the eye that would gaze on the morrow,
Is constrain’d to gaze on through a tear—
Even then there’s a hope that can brighten
The soul in its darksome abode,
That can dry up its sorrow, and lighten,
The weight of its wearisome load:
’Tis the hope which no joy can heighten,
That leads it to trust in its God.
Though the world to our griefs may be ever
Disdainful, unkind, and unjust;
And mankind may be eager to sever
The links of our holier trust;
And the mighty may daily endeavour
To tread our torn hearts in the dust,
Still thy presence, Lord, cannot be taken
From those that all faithful will be:
Then why should our spirits be shaken?
And why should we languish to flee?
When we know we are never forsaken,
In the midst of our troubles, by Thee.
W. Martin.
If the nation-feeding corn
Thriveth under iced snow;
If the small bird on the thorn
Useth well its guarded sloe;
Bid thy cares thy comforts double,
Gather fruit from thorns of trouble.
E. Elliot.
In the time of Grief and trouble,
Then we call upon the Lord,
And he hears our supplication,
Ever faithful to his word;
But when o’er the trouble passeth,
As a cloud that hid the sun,
We forget the hand that raised us,
Careless of the blessing won.
Egone.