Rest and be still:
Nought happens thee but of His blessed will.
There's not a wind that blows,
There's not a lily grows
Without His bidding—and His child shall He
Forget and leave uncomforted? Nay, see
How not a small brown sparrow (sorry thing!)
Without His hand can droop or raise a wing!
And thou art better far unto thy God!
Lo! if He calls thee to a way untrod
Where stones and rugged places tear thy feet,
And bitter herbs alone are for thy meat,
Or if He set thee high, and with a song
Fill thy rejoicing mouth, and make thee strong;
Yet know thou this: He loves thee just as dear
When dimpling laughter lights thy face, or tear
With bitter tear goes chasing down thy cheek,
And thy poor heart may break but cannot speak!
Rest and be still.
God hath not good and ill.
All that He sends is good, altho' our eye
For weeping scarce His rainbow can descry.
He is our Father, and His name is Love.
E'en when thy grief is greatest—look above!
Look up! look up! and thou shalt surely see
A Father's loving face down-bent to thee!
—Deborah.
761
The more a man denies himself, the more he shall obtain from God.
—Horace.
762
THE LOVE OF GOD.
The following beautiful lines were composed in 1779, by a distinguished scholar—at the time partially insane.
Could we with ink the ocean fill,
Were the whole earth of parchment made,
Were every single stick a quill,
Were every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God alone,
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor would the scroll contain the whole
Though stretched from earth to sky.