Chapter 80
How long must thy child endure?
Thou knowest! 'Tis well that I know it not!
Thine "afterward" cometh--I cannot tell what, But I know that thy word is sure.
What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord, I wonder--and wait to see (While to thy chastening hand I bow) What "peaceable fruit" may be ripening now-- Ripening fast for me!
--Frances Ridley Havergal.
HOW WE LEARN
Great truths are dearly bought. The common truth, Such as men give and take from day to day, Comes in the common walk of easy life, Blown by the careless wind across our way.
Great truths are greatly won, not found by chance, Nor wafted on the breath of summer dream; But grasped in the great struggle of the soul Hard buffeting with adverse wind and stream.
But in the day of conflict, fear and grief, When the strong hand of G.o.d, put forth in might, Plows up the subsoil of the stagnant heart And brings the imprisoned truth-seed to the light,
Wrung from the troubled spirit in hard hours Of weakness, solitude, perchance of pain, Truth springs like harvest from the well-plowed field.
And the soul feels it has not wept in vain.
--Horatius Bonar.
Though trouble-tossed and torture-torn The kingliest kings are crowned with thorn.
--Gerald Ma.s.sey.
HEAVIER THE CROSS
Heavier the cross the stronger faith: The loaded palm strikes deeper root; The vine-juice sweetly issueth When men have pressed the cl.u.s.tered fruit; And courage grows where dangers come Like pearls beneath the salt sea foam.
Heavier the cross the heartier prayer; The bruised herbs most fragrant are; If sky and wind were always fair The sailor would not watch the star; And David's psalms had ne'er been sung If grief his heart had never wrung.
Heavier the cross the more aspiring; From vales we climb to mountain's crest; The pilgrim, of the desert tiring, Longs for the Canaan of his rest.
The dove has here no rest in sight, And to the ark she wings her flight.
Heavier the cross the easier dying; Death is a friendlier face to see; To life's decay one bids defying, From life's distress one then is free; The cross sublimely lifts our faith To him who triumphed over death.
Thou Crucified! the cross I carry-- The longer may it dearer be; And, lest I faint while here I tarry, Implant thou such a heart in me That faith, hope, love, may
--Benjamin Schmolke.
LA ROCh.e.l.lE
A worthy man of Paris town Came to the bishop there: His face, o'erclouded with dismay, Betrayed a fixed despair.
"Father," said he, "a sinner vile Am I, against my will: Each hour I humbly pray for faith, But am a doubter still.
"Sure were I not despised of G.o.d, He would not leave me so To struggle thus in constant strife Against the deadly foe."
The bishop to his sorrowing son Thus spoke a kind relief: "The King of France has castles twain; To each he sends a chief.
"There's Montelhery, far inland, That stands in place secure; While La Roch.e.l.le, upon the coast, Doth sieges oft endure.
"Now for these castles--both preserved-- First in his prince's love Shall Montelhery's chief be placed, Or La Roch.e.l.le's above?"
"Oh! doubtless, sire," the sinner said, "That king will love the most The man whose task was hard to keep His castle on the coast!"
"Son," said the bishop, "thou art right; Apply this reasoning well: My heart is Montelhery fort, And thine is La Roch.e.l.le!"
IF THOU COULD'ST KNOW
I think, if thou could'st know, O soul, that will complain, What lies concealed below Our burden and our pain-- How just our anguish brings Nearer those longed-for things We seek for now in vain-- I think thou would'st rejoice and not complain.
I think, if thou could'st see, With thy dim mortal sight, How meanings, dark to thee, Are shadows hiding light; Truth's efforts crossed and vexed, Life's purpose all perplexed-- If thou could'st see them right, I think that they would seem all clear, and wise, and bright.
And yet thou can'st not know; And yet thou can'st not see; Wisdom and sight are slow In poor humanity.
If thou could'st _trust_, poor soul, In him who rules the whole, Thou would'st find peace and rest: Wisdom and sight are well, but trust is best.
MY CROSS
"O Lord, my G.o.d!" I oft have said, "Had I some other cross instead Of this I bear from day to day, 'Twere easier to go on my way.
"I do not murmur at its weight; That Thou hast made proportionate To my scant strength; but oh! full sore It presses where it pressed before.
"Change for a s.p.a.ce, however brief, The wonted burden, that relief May o'er my aching shoulders steal, And the deep bruise have room to heal!"
While thus I sadly sighed to-day I heard my gracious Father say, "Can'st thou not trust my love, my child, And to thy cross be reconciled?
"I fas.h.i.+oned it thy needs to meet; Nor were thy discipline complete Without that very pain and bruise Which thy weak heart would fain refuse."
Ashamed, I answered, "As Thou wilt!
I own my faithlessness and guilt; Welcome the weary pain shall be, Since only that is best for me."
G.o.d KNOWETH BEST
He took them from me, one by one, The things I set my heart upon; They looked so harmless, fair, and blest; Would they have hurt me? G.o.d knows best.
He loves me so, he would not wrest Them from me if it were not best.
He took them from me, one by one, The friends I set my heart upon.
O did they come, they and their love, Between me and my Lord above?
Were they as idols in my breast?
It may be. G.o.d in heaven knows best.
I will not say I did not weep, As doth a child that wants to keep The pleasant things in hurtful play His wiser parent takes away; But in this comfort I will rest: He who hath taken knoweth best.