Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul

by Unknown

GOD'S CARE

PROVIDENCE, GOD'S KNOWLEDGE AND BENEFICENCE

CONSIDER THE RAVENS

Lord, according to thy words,

I have considered thy birds;

And I find their life good,

And better, the better understood;

Sowing neither corn nor wheat

They have all that they can eat;

Reaping no more than they sow

They have more than they could stow;

Having neither barn nor store,

Hungry again they eat more.

Considering, I see too that they

Have a busy life, but plenty of play;

In the earth they dig their bills deep,

And work well, though they do not heap;

Then to play in the way they are not loth,

And their nests between are better than both.

But this is when there blow no storms,

When berries are plenty in winter, and worms,

When feathers are rife, with oil enough

To keep the cold out and send the rain off;

If there come, indeed, a long, hard frost,

Then it looks as though thy birds were lost.

But I consider further and find

A hungry bird has a free mind;

He is hungry to-day, but not to-morrow,

Steals no comfort, no grief doth borrow;

This moment is his, thy will hath said it,

The next is nothing till Thou hast made it.

The bird has pain, but has no fear—

Which is the worst of any gear;

When cold and hunger and harm betide him,

He does not take them and stuff inside him;

Content with the day's ill he has got,

He waits just, nor haggles with his lot;

Neither jumbles God's will

With driblets from his own still.

But next I see, in my endeavor,

The birds here do not live forever;

That cold or hunger, sickness or age,

Finishes their earthly stage;

The rooks drop in cold nights,

Leaving all their wrongs and rights;

Birds lie here and birds lie there

With their feathers all astare;

And in thine own sermon, thou

That the sparrow falls dost allow.

It shall not cause me any alarm,

For neither so comes the bird to harm,

Seeing our Father, thou hast said,

Is by the sparrow's dying bed;

Therefore it is a blessèd place,

And a sharer in high grace.

It cometh therefore to this, Lord:

I have considered thy word;

And henceforth will be thy bird.

—George Macdonald.

———

GOD KEEPS HIS OWN

I do not know whether my future lies

Through calm or storm;

Whether the way is strewn with broken ties,

Or friendships warm.

This much I know: Whate'er the pathway trod,

All else unknown,

I shall be guided safely on, for God

Will keep his own.

Clouds may obscure the sky, and drenching rain

Wear channels deep;

And haggard want, with all her bitter train,

Make angels weep.

And those I love the best, beneath the sod

May sleep alone;

But through it all I shall be led, for God

Will keep his own.

—Sarah Knowles Bolton.

———

CARE THOU FOR ME

Care Thou for me! Let me not care!

Too weak am I, dear Lord, to bear

The heavy burdens of the day;

And oft I walk with craven feet

Upon life's rough and toilsome way;

How sweet to feel, how passing sweet,

Thy watchful presence everywhere!

Care Thou for me! Let me not care!

Care Thou for me! Why should I care,

And looks of gloomy sadness wear,

And fret because I cannot see

(Thy wisdom doth ordain it so)

The path thou hast marked out for me?

My Father's plan is best, I know,

It will be light, sometime—somewhere—

Care thou for me! Why should I care?

Care Thou for me! Let me not care!

This, each new day, shall be my prayer;

Thou, who canst read my inmost heart,

Dost know I am exceeding frail;

Both just and merciful thou art,

Whose loving kindness ne'er shall fail;

My human nature thou wilt spare;

Care Thou for me! I will not care!

———

THE SPARROW

I am only a little sparrow,

A bird of low degree;

My life is of little value,

But the dear Lord cares for me.

He gave me a coat of feathers;

It is very plain, I know,

With never a speck of crimson,

For it was not made for show,

But it keeps me warm in winter,

And it shields me from the rain;

Were it bordered with gold or purple

Perhaps it would make me vain.

I have no barn or storehouse,

I neither sow nor reap;

God gives me a sparrow's portion,

But never a seed to keep.

If my meal is sometimes scanty,

Close picking makes it sweet;

I have always enough to feed me,

And "life is more than meat."

I know there are many sparrows,

All over the world we are found;

But our heavenly Father knoweth

When one of us falls to the ground.

Though small, we are not forgotten;

Though weak we are never afraid;

For we know that the dear Lord keepeth

The life of the creatures he made.

———

HE KNOWETH ALL

The twilight falls, the night is near,

I fold my work away

And kneel to One who bends to hear

The story of the day.

The old, old story, yet I kneel

To tell it at thy call;

And cares grow lighter as I feel

That Jesus knows them all.

Yes, all! The morning and the night,

The joy, the grief, the loss,

The roughened path, the sunbeam bright,

The hourly thorn and cross—

Thou knowest all; I lean my head,

My weary eyelids close,

Content and glad awhile to tread

This path, since Jesus knows!

And he has loved me! All my heart

With answering love is stirred,

And every anguished pain and smart

Finds healing in the Word.

So here I lay me down to rest,

As nightly shadows fall,

And lean, confiding, on his breast,

Who knows and pities all!

———

If to Jesus for relief

My soul has fled by prayer,

Why should I give way to grief

Or heart-consuming care?

While I know his providence

Disposes each event

Shall I judge by feeble sense,

And yield to discontent?

Sparrows if he kindly feed,

And verdure clothe in rich array.

Can he see a child in need,

And turn his eyes away?

———

HE NEVER FORGETS

Nay, nay, do not tell me that God will not hear me.

I know he is high over all,

Yet I know just as well that he always is near me

And never forgets me at all.

He shows not his face, for its glory would blind me,

Yet I walk on my way unafraid;

Though lost in the desert He surely would find me

His angels would come to my aid.

He sits on his throne in the wonderful city,

And I—I am ashes and dust!

Yet I am at rest in His wonderful pity,

And I in his promises trust.

He lighteth the stars, and they shine in their places;

He maketh his sun like a flame;

But better and brighter to Him are the faces

Of mortals that call on his name.

Nay, nay! do not tell me that, wrapped in his glory.

He hears not my voice when I cry;

He made me! He loves me! He knows all my story!

I shall look on his face by and by!

———

THE SURE REFUGE

O I know the Hand that is guiding me

Through the shadow to the light;

And I know that all betiding me

Is meted out aright.

I know that the thorny path I tread

Is ruled with a golden line;

And I know that the darker life's tangled thread

The brighter the rich design.

When faints and fails each wilderness hope,

And the lamp of faith burns dim,

O! I know where to find the honey drop

On the bitter chalice brim.

For I see, though veiled from my mortal sight,

God's plan is all complete;

Though the darkness at present be not light,

And the bitter be not sweet.

I can wait till the dayspring shall overflow

The night of pain and care;

For I know there's a blessing for every woe,

A promise for every prayer.

Yes, I feel that the Hand which is holding me

Will ever hold me fast;

And the strength of the arms that are folding me

Will keep me to the last.

———

FOLLOWING

As God leads me will I go,

Nor choose my way.

Let him choose the joy or woe

Of every day;

They cannot hurt my soul,

Because in his control;

I leave to him the whole—

His children may.

As God leads me I am still

Within his hand;

Though his purpose my self-will

Doth oft withstand;

Yet I wish that none

But his will be done

Till the end be won

That he hath planned.

As God leads I am content;

He will take care!

All things by his will are sent

That I must bear;

To him I take my fear,

My wishes, while I'm here;

The way will all seem clear,

When I am there!

As God leads me it is mine

To follow him;

Soon all shall wonderfully shine

Which now seems dim.

Fulfilled be his decree!

What he shall choose for me

That shall my portion be,

Up to the brim!

As God leads me so my heart

In faith shall rest.

No grief nor fear my soul shall part

From Jesus' breast.

In sweet belief I know

What way my life doth go—

Since God permitteth so—

That must be best.

—L. Gedicke.

———

"YOUR HEAVENLY FATHER KNOWETH"

There are two words of light divine

That fall upon this heart of mine,

That thrill me in the hour of gain,

That still me in the hour of pain:

Two words endued with magic power,

Sufficient unto any hour—

He knows.

As summer breezes, cool and sweet,

Bring rest, relief from toil and heat;

As showers, needed as they fall,

Renew, refresh and comfort all;

So to my feverish heart is given

This loving message, fresh from heaven:

He knows.

My fainting heart finds strength in this,

My hungry heart here seeks its bliss;

Here angry billows never surge,

Here death can never sing its dirge;

My rising fears, with murmuring fraught,

Find sudden calm beneath this thought:

He knows.

O lullaby for children grown!

O nectar sweet for lips that moan!

O balm to stricken hearts oppressed!

O pillow where worn heads may rest!

All joy, all comfort in thee meet,

O blessed words, surpassing sweet,

He knows.

———

FEAR NOT

Don't you trouble trouble

Till trouble troubles you.

Don't you look for trouble;

Let trouble look for you.

Don't you borrow sorrow;

You'll surely have your share.

He who dreams of sorrow

Will find that sorrow's there.

Don't you hurry worry

By worrying lest it come.

To flurry is to worry,

'Twill miss you if you're mum.

If care you've got to carry

Wait till 'tis at the door;

For he who runs to meet it

Takes up the load before.

If minding will not mend it,

Then better not to mind;

The best thing is to end it—

Just leave it all behind.

Who feareth hath forsaken

The Heavenly Father's side;

What he hath undertaken

He surely will provide.

The very birds reprove thee

With all their happy song;

The very flowers teach thee

That fretting is a wrong.

"Cheer up," the sparrow chirpeth,

"Thy Father feedeth me;

Think how much more he careth,

O lonely child, for thee!"

"Fear not," the flowers whisper;

"Since thus he hath arrayed

The buttercup and daisy,

How canst thou be afraid?"

Then don't you trouble trouble,

Till trouble troubles you;

You'll only double trouble,

And trouble others too.

———

HE LEADS US ON

He leads us on

By paths we did not know;

Upward he leads us, though our steps be slow,

Though oft we faint and falter on the way,

Though storms and darkness oft obscure the day,

Yet when the clouds are gone

We know he leads us on.

He leads us on.

Through all the unquiet years;

Past all our dreamland hopes, and doubts, and fears,

He guides our steps. Through all the tangled maze

Of sin, of sorrow, and o'erclouded days

We know his will is done;

And still he leads us on.

And he, at last,

After the weary strife—

After the restless fever we call life—

After the dreariness, the aching pain,

The wayward struggles which have proved in vain,

After our toils are past,

Will give us rest at last.

———

THE DEVIL IS A FOOL

Saint Dominic, the glory of the schools,

Writing, one day, "The Inquisition's" rules,

Stopt, when the evening came, for want of light.

The devils, who below from morn till night,

Well pleased, had seen his work, exclaimed with sorrow,

"Something he will forget before to-morrow!"

One zealous imp flew upward from the place,

And stood before him, with an angel face.

"I come," said he, "sent from God's Realm of Peace,

To light you, lest your holy labors cease."

Well pleased, the saint wrote on with careful pen.

The candle was consumed; the devil then

Lighted his thumb; the saint, quite undisturbed,

Finished his treatise to the final word.

Then he looked up, and started with affright;

For lo! the thumb blazed with a lurid light.

"Your thumb is burned!" said he. The child of sin

Changed to his proper form, and with a grin

Said, "I will quench it in the martyrs' blood

Your book will cause to flow—a crimson flood!"

Triumphantly the fiend returned to hell

And told his story. Satan said, "'Tis well!

Your aim was good, but foolish was the deed;

For blood of martyrs is the Church's seed."

—Herder, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.

———

PROVIDENCE

We all acknowledge both thy power and love

To be exact, transcendent, and divine;

Who dost so strongly and so sweetly move,

While all things have their will, yet none but thine,

For either thy command or thy permission

Lay hands on all: they are thy right and left:

The first puts on with speed and expedition;

The other curbs sin's stealing pace and theft.

Nothing escapes them both; all must appear

And be disposed and dressed and tuned by thee,

Who sweetly temperest all. If we could hear

Thy skill and art what music would it be!

Thou art in small things great, nor small in any;

Thy even praise can neither rise nor fall.

Thou art in all things one, in each thing many;

For thou art infinite in one and all.

—George Herbert.

———

THE MYSTERIOUS WAY

God moves in a mysterious way

His wonders to perform;

He plants his footsteps in the sea

And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never-failing skill,

He treasures up his bright designs

And works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take:

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust him for his grace;

Behind a frowning providence

He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,

And scan his work in vain;

God is his own interpreter,

And he will make it plain.

—William Cowper.

———

DISAPPOINTMENT

Our yet unfinished story

Is tending all to this:

To God the greatest glory,

To us the greatest bliss.

If all things work together

For ends so grand and blest,

What need to wonder whether

Each in itself is best!

If some things were omitted,

Or altered as we would,

The whole might be unfitted

To work for perfect good.

Our plans may be disjointed,

But we may calmly rest;

What God has once appointed,

Is better than our best.

We cannot see before us,

But our all-seeing Friend

Is always watching o'er us,

And knows the very end.

What though we seem to stumble?

He will not let us fall;

And learning to be humble

Is not lost time at all.

What though we fondly reckoned

A smoother way to go

Than where his hand hath beckoned?

It will be better so.

What only seemed a barrier

A stepping-stone shall be;

Our God is no long tarrier,

A present help is he.

And when amid our blindness

His disappointments fall,

We trust his loving-kindness

Whose wisdom sends them all;

The discord that involveth

Some startling change of key,

The Master's hand revolveth

In richest harmony.

Then tremble not, and shrink not,

When disappointment nears;

Be trustful still, and think not

To realize all fears.

While we are meekly kneeling

We shall behold her rise,

Our Father's love revealing,

An angel in disguise.

—Frances Ridley Havergal.

———