Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 101

It matters not if dreams dissolve Like mists beneath the morning sun, For swiftly as the worlds revolve So swiftly will life's race be run.

It matters not if hopes depart, Or life be pressed with toil and care.

If love divine shall fill my heart And all be sanctified with prayer.

Then let me learn submission sweet In every thought, in each desire, And humbly lay at his dear feet A heart aglow with heavenly fire.

"SOMETIME"

Sometime, when all life's lessons have been learned, And sun and stars forevermore have set, The things which our weak judgment here had spurned, The things o'er which we grieve with lashes wet, Will flash before us out of life's dark night, As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue, And we shall see how all G.o.d's plans were right, And how what seemed reproof was love most true.

And we shall see how, while we frown and sigh, G.o.d's plans go on as best for you and me; How when we called he heeded not our cry, Because his wisdom to the end could see; And even as prudent parents disallow Too much of sweet to crooning baby's hest, So G.o.d perhaps is keeping from us now Life's sweetest things because it seemeth best.

And if sometimes commingled with life's wine We find the wormwood, and rebel and shrink, Be sure a wiser hand than yours or mine Poured out the potion for our lips to drink; And if some one we love is lying low, Where human kisses can not reach the face, O do not blame the loving Father so, But wear your sorrow with obedient grace,

And you will shortly know that lengthened breath Is not the sweetest gift G.o.d gives his friend; And that sometimes the sable pall of death Conceals the fairest boon his love can send.

If we could push ajar the gates of life, And stand within, and all G.o.d's workings see, We could interpret all this doubt and strife, And for each mystery could find a key.

But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart, G.o.d's plans, like lilies pure and white, unfold; We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart, Time will reveal the calyxes of gold.

And if through patient toil we reach the land Where tired feet with sandals loosed may rest, When we shall clearly know and understand, I think that we will say: "G.o.d knew the best."

--May Louise Riley Smith.

O why and whither? G.o.d knows all; I only know that he is good, And that whatever may befall, Or here or there, must be the best that could.

For He is merciful as just; And so, by faith correcting sight, I bow before his will, and trust Howe'er they seem he doeth all things right.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

NOT KNOWING

I know not what shall befall me; G.o.d hangs a mist o'er my eyes, And thus each step of my onward path He makes new scenes to rise, And every joy he sends me comes As a sweet and glad surprise.

I see not a step before me As I tread on another year; But the past is in G.o.d's keeping, The future his mercy shall clear, And what looks dark in the distance May brighten as I draw near.

For perhaps the dreaded future Is less bitter than I think; The Lord may sweeten the waters Before I stoop to drink, Or, if Marah must be Marah, He will stand beside its brink.

It may be he keeps waiting Till the coming of my feet Some gift of such rare blessedness, Some joy so strangely sweet, That my lips shall only tremble With the thanks they cannot speak.

O restful, blissful ignorance!

'Tis blessed not to know, It stills me in those mighty arms Which will not let me go, And hushes my soul to rest On the bosom which loves me so!

So I go on not knowing; I would not if I might; I would rather walk in the dark with G.o.d Than go alone in the light; I would rather walk with him by faith, Than walk alone by sight.

My heart shrinks back from trials Which the future may disclose, Yet I never had a sorrow But what the dear Lord chose; So I send the coming tears back With the whispered word, "He knows."

--Mary Gardner Brainard.

"Trust is truer than our fears,"

Runs the legend through the moss; "Gain is not in added years, Nor in death is loss."

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

CONFIDO ET CONQUIESCO

Fret not, poor soul; while doubt and fear Disturb thy breast, The pitying angels, who can see How vain thy wild regret must be, Say, "Trust and Rest."

Plan not, nor scheme, but calmly wait; His choice is best; While blind and erring is thy sight His wisdom sees and judges right; So Trust and Rest.

Strive not, nor struggle; thy poor might Can never wrest The meanest thing to serve thy will; All power is his alone. Be still, And Trust and Rest.

Desire thou not; self-love is strong Within thy breast, And yet he loves thee better still: So let him do his loving will, And Trust and Rest.

What dost thou fear? His wisdom reigns Supreme confessed; His power is infinite; his love Thy deepest, fondest dreams above!

So Trust and Rest.

--Adelaide Anne Procter.

BE CAREFUL FOR NOTHING

My spirit on thy care, Blest Saviour, I recline; Thou wilt not leave me to despair, For thou art Love divine.

In Thee I place my trust, On thee I calmly rest; I know thee good, I know thee just, And count thy choice the best.

Whate'er events betide, Thy will they all perform; Safe in thy breast my head I hide, Nor fear the coming storm.

Let good or ill befall, It must be good for me; Secure of having thee in all, Of having all in thee.

--Henry F. Lyte.

IN HIM CONFIDING

Sometimes a light surprises The Christian while he sings; It is the Lord who rises With healing on his wings.

When comforts are declining He grants the soul again A season of clear shining, To cheer it after rain.

In holy contemplation We sweetly then pursue The theme of G.o.d's salvation, And find it ever new.

Set free from present sorrow, We cheerfully can say, Let the unknown to-morrow Bring with it what it may.

It can bring with it nothing But He will bear us through; Who gives the lilies clothing, Will clothe his people too.

Beneath the spreading heavens No creature but is fed; And He who feeds the ravens Will give his children bread.

Though vine nor fig tree neither Their wonted fruit should bear, Though all the fields should wither, Nor flocks nor herds be there; Yet G.o.d the same abiding, His praise shall tune my voice; For while in him confiding, I cannot but rejoice.