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Often the thought comes o'er me,
Musing in sorrow lone, “What fate shall yet betide me,
Ere night's dark shades are gone?” Then cometh sudden brightness,
And my heart is glad again Awhile—yet clouds will gather,
Returning after rain.
Often I sadly ponder
On the Future's aspect drear ;
And fills my soul with fear.
Consolingly to me :-
Full oft sin's wounds, though hidden,
Arouse my bitter grief, Till Thou dost come to bind them,
And bring my heart relief.
In weariness and pain :
And raise me up again.
Thou Giver of all blessing,
My Shepherd! I would seek
But I am faint and weak.
When all my strength is gone!
I am no more alone.
It may be but a moment
Till the sorrow shall be past; And Thou wilt lead me homeward,
To the Father's House at last. Then shall Thy faithful guidance,
In these painful earthly days, Throughout the long “For Ever”
Be my song of thanks and praise. WORK IN THE LORD.
(DIE ARBEIT IN DEM HERRN.)
WHATE’ER thou doest in the Lord shall well succeed;
The glory His—the blessing all for thee:
In great and small things, He will ever be
And hands upon our work--thus shall it stable prove.
There is no work so small before The Master's sight
That He doth not stand by, His help to lend,
And bring it all Himself to such an end,
Ask but His Aid in all—thus all shall perfect be.
He knoweth how in quiet rest the heart to hold,
If wearisome and hard the work appear :
He chaseth from the brow the lines of care :
And doth cach loving action with His Blessing fill.
And if He walks with thee, He scatters not thy might;
But, gathering all together, He doth shed Over thy handiwork a radiant, joy-clear light,
That so its weariness be banished: And for the work which by His help thou dost achieve,
From His own Hand thy soul the guerdon shall receive.
O blessèd life, to have Him ever in our sight :
To speak with Him at all times; and His Voice
Thus in His living Friendship to rejoice
As, also, is the ease with which our work is done.
O How many an hour of gladness
From our God have we received; And how many a grievous heart-wound
Has His healing touch relieved !
When the sun shone hotly o’er us—
When our hearts were weak and low, How hath He revived our spirit,
Wiped the moisture from our brow!
And, however long the warfare,
There is victory at last;
When the pilgrimage is past.
Clad no more in pilgrim-garments
Shall we reach the Fatherland; But in robes of festal brightness
In His longed-for Presence stand.