TRUST by W. C. White

Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Oakland, California · Jul 17, 1879

TRUST.

By W. C. White

'TWAS late upon a winter afternoon I sat within my window, looking out. I had been thinking all that weary day On one great theme; and now (my mind in doubt And dread) my eyes turned hopelessly away Toward the mountains and the eastern sky. Long weeks I had been seeking, but in vain, And now I asked myself the reason why, When others were so happy in his love, I should thus come to Christ day after day, Longing to find through him that light I sought, Yet walking still in darkness; not one ray To pierce the night in which my soul was wrapt. As I sat thinking thus I fell asleep. The inky blackness of a winter's night Was settling rapidly o'er mountain steep.

I dreamed that, weary of my life within, I wandered forth alone and purposeless, Caring not where the morn should find my feet; My heart rebellious, full of bitterness. Before me stretched a forest thick and wild, Covering the mountain's steep and craggy side; A rushing, mighty storm filled all the air With wails and shrieks resounding far and wide. Madly I plunged into the forest's depths: Before me lay no path to guide my way, Yet on I pressed; some spirit seemed to lead, And I, unquestioning, but to obey. Onward and onward to the mountain's top; Then downward, and then onward still again, Until at length the impulse seemed to cease And I was left again alone, as when I started from my home those hours ago To dare the terrors of that awful night.

Before me was deep darkness, and behind And all about me darkness mocked my sight; The trees bent low before the winter's storm, Each blast threatening to tear them from their place, As, sweeping, rushing, crashing through their trunks, They groaned and quivered to their very base. Listening, I could hear the sullen roar Of waters, rolling many feet below, Telling me that one forward step perchance Would hurl me to an unrelenting foe. I did not dare to stir, nor yet to stay; I could not call for help, for none was near; I sank upon the ground in horror then, Shuddering, filled with agony and fear; When all at once, as I lay prostrate there, The earth seemed sinking down, beneath my weight, And I was falling through the empty air Down to a certain and an awful fate.

As drowning men catch after every straw, Wildly I cried and wildly clutched the air, Seeking for root or branch to break my fall, My heart like lead with anguish and despair. Down, downward falling to the depths below, Hope almost gone, life now of little worth, Sudden I found within my tightening clasp A little twig, deep rooted in the earth. My fall was checked, and for a moment now Hope shone again within my pallid face, As hanging there between the earth and Heaven, I felt my fate delayed a little space; But only for a little must it be Unless help come in this my time of need; And now my heart went forth in prayer to him Who long ago for my salvation bled Upon the cross. "Lord Jesus save me now," I cried, "In my hour of sore distress. Lord help me or I perish!" and my voice Echoed far down the gorge its earnestness. Intensely then I listened for reply. The wind had sunk to stillness. Far below I heard an answer coming up to me; A still, small voice, so gentle, sweet and low: "Let go the twig, my child, and trust in me, And I will save you." But how could I quit My hold of that kept me from sure death Among the horrors of that awful pit? Again I cried, "Save, or I perish, Lord!" Again that voice came softly back to me, "Let go thy hold, my child, for I will save, However great and dread the danger be." But still I feared to loose my weakening grasp, And still I cried in agony of soul, "Oh, Father, save me for thy dear Son's sake From the dark waters that beneath me roll," And still again the answer came to me:

"Let go thy hold and I will save, my child; The twig but keeps you for a little time, Then you must perish in the waters wild. You ask me for my help, and still you fear To trust to me your safety; if I would, I cannot help you while you still refuse To let me. You but ask from me a good And then refuse to take it at my hands. Let go thy hold, and I will do the rest. Thou canst not save thyself; then trust in me; Surely, my child, thy Father knoweth best." "Then help me, Oh my Father, and I will Put all my trust in thee." At his request So kindly given, I left it all with him, Let go my hold and fell—upon his breast.

I woke. My room was dark, as in my dream Had been the night; but oh, my soul was filled With a new light it ne'er before had known. I had been asking to do as he willed, But trying all this while to do his will In my own way. I would not trust in him Implicitly, taking him at his word, And simply yield myself fully to him. And then I thanked my Father for this dream Sent as a lesson to an erring one; And then I gave myself to him, to do His own will as he wished it should be done; And I received him as my Saviour there, And he became my bright and shining sun To light me on my pathway until, all Life's battle's fought, the crown at last is won. —W. C. White, in "Our Work at Home."