To flee far away from my fellows,
And far from the city's roar,
And seek on the boundless prairie
A balm for my burning sore—
The sore of the weary spirit,
The burn of the aching heart
Of him who has known true friendship—
Has known it—but only to part.
And I said in that hour of anguish:
"I will fly from the haunts of men,
And seek, in the bosom of Nature,
Relief from my ceaseless pain."
As lonely I sat, and thus pondered,
A voice seemed to speak in my ear;
And the sound of that voice was like music,
And its accents were mellow and clear:
"Weary soul, though all men have forsaken,
Thy God hath remembered thee still;
The sorrow and pain thou hast suffered
Are part of His infinite will.
"Sorrow not, though He call thee to suffer;
Evade not His righteous decree;
Be faithful, and live uncomplaining
The life He has ordered for thee;
"For God is thine infinite Father,
His purpose is all for the best.
Fight bravely, for after the battle
He giveth thee comfort and rest."
And the sound of that voice was like music,
And its accents were mellow and clear;
No longer I felt I was lonely,
For I knew that my Father was near.
And as I sat silent, and pondered,
My sorrow all vanished away;
My strength was "renewed like the eagle's"
And I longed for the breaking of day.
That again I might join in Life's battle,
And fight with a strength not my own,
Till my foes should be vanquished and scattered,
My enemies all overthrown.