If I could only surely know
That all these things that tire me so
Were noticed by my Lord.
The pang that cuts me like a knife,
The lesser pains of daily life,
The noise, the weariness, the strife,
What peace it would afford!
I wonder if he really shares
In all my little human cares,
This mighty King of kings.
If he who guides each blazing star
Through realms of boundless space afar
Without confusion, sound or jar,
Stoops to these petty things.
It seems to me, if sure of this,
Blent with each ill would come such bliss
That I might covet pain,
And deem whatever brought to me
The loving thought of Deity,
And sense of Christ's sweet sympathy,
No loss, but richest gain.
Dear Lord, my heart hath not a doubt
That thou dost compass me about
With sympathy divine.
The love for me once crucified
Is not a love to leave my side,
But waiteth ever to divide
Each smallest care of mine.