"HEREAFTER THOU SHALT KNOW."
By Fannie Bolton
"What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter."
Nor always shall the way be dark.
Sometime we shall look back,
And see our Great Heart strike his spark,
Lift torch upon the track,
And all the unfathomed mystery,
And every grief and woe,
Made bright by love. What wist not ye
"Hereafter thou shalt know." "For what I do thou knowest not now."
Oh, no, it all seems pain!
The lines of care trace deep the brow,
And tears drop, drop in vain,
And yet we now may take His hand,
And look up as we go,
And trust Him in this weary land.
Hereafter we shall know. "For what I do thou knowest not now."
And, lo, a loved one lies
With folded hands and brow of snow,
And death-sealed lips and eyes!
Oh, in our lonely home we weep
In utter desolate woe,
And yet the heavenly harp strings sweep
With music, "Thou shalt know"! Loves unrequited, pleasures missed,
Ambitions perished, oh,
The castles fallen, lips unkissed
We've kissed in dreams, although
There not for us! O rebel heart,
Thine arms must be laid low!
To-day to suffer is thy part;
Hereafter thou shalt know. Some day the books shall opened be—
O record of the years!
And all the mystery we shall see,
And understand our tears,
And where we've wept, we'll sing, I trow
And praise God for the woe;
For what he does we know not now,
Hereafter we shall know. And there we'll see that pain was gain,
For, though it pierced us so,
It made us fly to Christ, and then
His love made sweet our woe.
Chastened, rebuked, and humbled low,
Refined through grace, e'en so;
We comprehend but little now;
Hereafter we shall know. And yet it shines, as though we saw
Through glass but darkly now.
We stand aside sometimes in awe
And to God's great will bow,
For seems a Presence draweth near,
Walking with us in woe;
A flash of something great doth cheer.
Hereafter we shall know. Is pain the chisel in his hand,
Making the statue fine?
Is pain the wheel on which we wind,
Shaping to mould divine?
Is pain the furnace fire to eat
The dross from out the whole?
Is't Love craves on to shape most sweet
Its image in thy soul? Submit to God and he'll complete
The image of the Holy,
Mould thee a face, oh, heavenly sweet,
And spirit meek and lowly,
Give thee a robe and starry crown
With gems of light aglow!
Oh, meekly to the cross bow down!
"Hereafter thou shalt know."