I know not what shall befall me;
God hangs a mist o'er my eyes,
And thus each step of my onward path
He makes new scenes to rise,
And every joy he sends me comes
As a sweet and glad surprise.
I see not a step before me
As I tread on another year;
But the past is in God's keeping,
The future his mercy shall clear,
And what looks dark in the distance
May brighten as I draw near.
For perhaps the dreaded future
Is less bitter than I think;
The Lord may sweeten the waters
Before I stoop to drink,
Or, if Marah must be Marah,
He will stand beside its brink.
It may be he keeps waiting
Till the coming of my feet
Some gift of such rare blessedness,
Some joy so strangely sweet,
That my lips shall only tremble
With the thanks they cannot speak.
O restful, blissful ignorance!
'Tis blessed not to know,
It stills me in those mighty arms
Which will not let me go,
And hushes my soul to rest
On the bosom which loves me so!
So I go on not knowing;
I would not if I might;
I would rather walk in the dark with God
Than go alone in the light;
I would rather walk with him by faith,
Than walk alone by sight.
My heart shrinks back from trials
Which the future may disclose,
Yet I never had a sorrow
But what the dear Lord chose;
So I send the coming tears back
With the whispered word, "He knows."
--Mary Gardner Brainard.
"Trust is truer than our fears,"
Runs the legend through the moss;
"Gain is not in added years,
Nor in death is loss."
--John Greenleaf Whittier.