HIS PROMISE.
Oft when the rain-drops fall, We pray for sunlight fair; Oft when the day is bright, We seek the cooling shade; Oft when the robins call, We long for tree-tops bare; Oft when the ground is white, We wish that spring had stayed.
But God who ruleth all, And keeps us in His care, Doth plan all things aright, Which for our good He made; Our gifts, so poor and small, Cannot with His compare, And if we trust His might His promise will not fade.
LIFE’S CRUCIBLE.
We do not cut and polish the stones That are laid in the common wall; We do not prune the brambles and weeds That around our pathway fall.
We do not put into crucibles A metal unworthy the test; Nor do we send a man to the front Who would not peril his best.
The vine that’s pruned bears the choicest fruit,— Necessity grinds the dull tool; And the keenest and best instructors Are prepared in Affliction’s school.
Suffering gives us the richest thoughts That to literature can belong;— In poetry it strikes the sweetest note And inspires the tenderest song.
Our troubles are but the inlets small That shall lead to the human soul, Thro’ which the Comforter comes to heal And to strengthen us for the Goal.