FAITH by Bertha Edythe Strelinger

Pacific Press Publishing Company · OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA · Sep 6, 1899

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 25, No. 36.

FAITH.

By Bertha Edythe Strelinger

Tho the days are dark and dreary With the shades of deepest night, And my soul is weak and weary With the endless, endless fight, Still I hear my Saviour, ever, Bid me come to Him for rest; Bid me cease my vain complaining, Lean my head upon His breast.

As I come to Him for shelter From temptations that assail, I can feel His arms about me— Those dear arms that never fail; Then I've peace so pure and perfect Which no mortal tongue can tell. Yes, there's purpose in each sorrow, "For He doeth all things well!"

Ah! I'm sure were I to listen And obey His every call, I should never doubt His mercy, And should never faint nor fall. When I think of how unworthy Of His love I've always been; There's a comfort in the message, "I have cleansed thee from all sin."

Often when the sorest trials Gather 'round me everywhere, And I feel so weak and weary Under such a load of care, I just think of how He suffered Here on earth, O, many a day! And my tribulations leave me, Vanishing like clouds away.

O, I long to be like Jesus! Who on Calv'ry died for me— Bore in silence, shame and sorrow, That from death I might be free. And I pray for faith more simple, And an ever-present peace; For a heart all pure and perfect, And from anxious care's release. BERTHA EDYTHE STRELINGER. Detroit, Mich.