Not a brooklet floweth
Onward to the sea,
Not a sunbeam gloweth
On its bosom free,
Not a seed unfoldeth
To the glorious air,
But our Father holdeth
It within his care.
Not a floweret fadeth,
Not a star grows dim,
Not a cloud o'ershadeth,
But 'tis marked by him.
Dream not that thy gladness
God doth fail to see;
Think not in thy sadness
He forgetteth thee.
Not a tie is broken,
Not a hope laid low,
Not a farewell spoken,
But our God doth know.
Every hair is numbered,
Every tear is weighed
In the changeless balance
Wisest Love has made.
Power eternal resteth
In his changeless hand;
Love immortal hasteth
Swift at his command,
Faith can firmly trust him
In the darkest hour,
For the keys she holdeth
To his love and power.
"I WILL ABIDE IN THINE HOUSE"
Among so many can he care?
Can special love be everywhere?
A myriad homes--a myriad ways--
And God's eye over every place?
_Over_; but _in_? The world is full;
A grand omnipotence must rule;
But is there life that doth abide
With mine own, loving, side by side?
So many, and so wide abroad;
Can any heart have all of God?
From the great spaces vague and dim,
May one small household gather him?
I asked; my soul bethought of this:
In just that very place of his
Where he hath put and keepeth you,
God hath no other thing to do.
--Adeline Dutton Train Whitney.