TRUST

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Apr 11, 1878

My little girl, the other day (Three years of age a month ago), Wounded her finger while at play, And saw the crimson current flow.

With pleading optics raining tears, She sought my aid in terrors wild; I smiling said, “Dismiss your fears, And all shall soon be well, my child.”

Her little bosom ceased to swell, While she replied, with calmer brow, “I know that you can make it well, But how, papa, I do not know.”

Our children oft entreat us thus For succor or for recompense; They look with confidence to us, As we should look to Providence.

For each infantile doubt and fear, And every little childish grief, Is uttered in a parent's ear With full assurance of relief.

A grateful sense of favors past Inclines them to petition now, With faith in succor to the last, Although they can't imagine how.

And shall I doubtingly repine When clouds of dark affliction lower? A tender Father still is mine, Of greater mercy, love and power.

He clothes the lily, feeds the dove, The meanest insect feels his care; And shall not man confess his love— Man his offspring and his heir?

Yes; though he slay, I'll trust him still, And still with resignation bow; He may relieve, he can, he will, Although I cannot yet see how. —Sel.