LET NOT YOUR HEART BE TROUBLED.
By Emma C. Dowd
WHEN all the world is bright with spring and morning,
And you alone seem marked for nature's scorning,
Shut in, secure, with deepening pain and sorrow,
And all life's future looks one long, sad morrow,—
What saith the tender Christ, the glorious one,
Who shineth in dark chambers as the sun?
"Let not your heart be troubled." When all the world seems resting in the noon-time,
When hearts grow light and glad through happy June-time,
And you must toil and toil for scanty payment,
To gain but meager food and coarsest raiment,—
What saith the pitying Christ, who giveth rest
To every heavy-laden soul, oppressed?
"Let not your heart be troubled." When all the world is gay with merry-making,
Nor heeds how many lonely hearts are aching,
And you, shut out from mirth, soul-sick and fainting,
Hear but the wintry night-wind's hollow plaining,—
What saith the loving Christ, the outcast's friend,
Who will be with us, "even to the end"?
"Let not your heart be troubled." Why must we ever doubt and question vainly,
Because we cannot see God's reasons plainly?
He surely is all wisdom, love, and power,—
Shall we not trust him for life's little hour?
For thus saith Christ, who notes our every cry,
Who lived a man, to labor, suffer, die:
"Let not your heart be troubled."
—Emma C. Dowd, in S. S. Times.