Chapter 57
--Charles Mackay.
ENOUGH
I am so weak, dear Lord, I cannot stand One moment without thee; But oh, the tenderness of thine enfolding, And oh, the faithfulness of thine upholding, And oh, the strength of thy right hand!
_That strength_ is enough for me.
I am so needy, Lord, and yet I know All fullness dwells in thee; And hour by hour that never-failing treasure Supplies and fills in overflowing measure, My last, my greatest need. And so _Thy grace_ is enough for me.
It is so sweet to trust THY WORD alone!
I do not ask to see The unveiling of thy purpose, or the s.h.i.+ning Of future light or mysteries untwining; The promise-roll is all my own, _Thy word_ is enough for me.
The human heart asks love. But now I know That my heart hath from Thee All real, and full, and marvelous affection So near, so human! yet Divine perfection Thrills gloriously the mighty glow!
_Thy love_ is enough for me.
There were strange soul depths, restless, vast and broad Unfathomed as the sea.
An infinite craving for some infinite stilling; But now Thy perfect love is perfect filling!
Lord Jesus Christ, my Lord, my G.o.d, Thou, thou art enough for me!
--Frances Ridley Havergal.
FULLY CONTENT
I know not, and I would not know, Content, I leave it all with Thee; 'Tis ever best it should be so; As thou wilt have it let it be.
But this I know: that every day And every step for me is planned; I surely cannot lose the Way While He is holding fast my hand.
And surely, whatsoe'er betide, I never shall be left alone: Thou standest ever by my side; To thee my future all is known.
And wheresoe'er my lot may fall The way before is marked by Thee; The windings of my life are all Unfoldings of thy Love to me.
What matter will it be, O mortal man, when thou art dying, Whether upon a throne or on the bare earth thou art lying?
--From the Persian.
CONTENT WITH ALL
Content that
Content with sickness or with health-- Content with poverty or wealth-- Content to walk in humble guise, And as He wills it sink or rise.
Content to live alone And call no place thine own.
No sweet reunions day by day.
Thy kindred spirits far away.
And, since G.o.d wills to have it so, Thou wouldst not change for weal or woe.
Content that others rise Before thy very eyes.
How bright their lot and portion here!
Wealth fills their coffers--friends are near.
Behold their mansions tall and fair!
The timbrel and the dance are there.
Content to toil or rest-- G.o.d's peace within thy breast-- To feel thy times are in His hand Who holds all worlds in his command-- Thy time to laugh--thy time to sigh-- Thy time to live--thy time to die.
And is it so indeed Thou art with G.o.d agreed?
Content 'mid all the ills of life?
Farewell, then, sorrow, pain and strife!
Such high content is heaven begun.
The battle's fought, the victory won!
--Mary Ann W. Cook.
A BLESSED LESSON
Have I learned, in whatsoever State to be content?
Have I learned this blessed lesson By my Master sent-- And with joyous acquiescence Do I greet His will Even when my own is thwarted And my hands lie still?
Surely it is best and sweetest Thus to have Him choose, Even though some work I've taken By this choice I lose.
Folded hands need not be idle-- Fold them but in prayer; Other souls may toil far better For G.o.d's answer there.
They that "reap" receive their "wages,"
Those who "work" their "crown,"
Those who pray throughout the ages Bring blest answers down; In "whatever state" abiding Till the Master call, They at eventide will find Him Glorified in all.
What though I can do so little For my Lord and King, At His feet I sit and listen, At His feet I sing.
And, whatever my condition, All in love is meant; Sing, my soul, thy recognition, Sing, and be content!
IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN
Led by kindlier hand than ours, We journey through this earthly scene, And should not, in our weary hours, Turn to regret what might have been.
And yet these hearts, when torn by pain, Or wrung by disappointment keen, Will seek relief from present cares In thoughts of joys that might have been.
But let us still these wishes vain; We know not that of which we dream.
Our lives might have been sadder yet G.o.d only knows what might have been.
Forgive us, Lord, our little faith; And help us all, from morn to e'en, Still to believe that lot were best Which is--not that which might have been.
And grant we may so pa.s.s the days The cradle and the grave between, That death's dark hour not darker be For thoughts of what life might have been.
--George Z. Gray.
Hus.h.i.+ng every muttered murmur, Let your fort.i.tude the firmer Gird your soul with strength.