I cannot say,
Beneath the pressure of life's cares to-day,
I joy in these;
But I can say
That I had rather walk this rugged way,
If _Him_ it please.
I cannot feel
That all is well when darkening clouds conceal
The shining sun;
But then I know
God lives and loves, and say, since it is so,
_Thy will be done_.
I cannot speak
In happy tones; the tear-drops on my cheek
Show I am sad:
But I can speak
Of _grace_ to suffer with submission meek
Until made glad.
I do not see
Why God should e'en permit some things to be,
When _He is love_;
But I can see,
Though often dimly, through the mystery
His hand above!
I do not know
Where falls the seed that I have tried to sow
With greatest care;
But I _shall know_
The meaning of each waiting hour below
_Sometime, somewhere_!
I do not look
Upon the present, nor in Nature's book,
To read my fate;
But I _do look_
For _promised blessings_ in God's holy Book;
And _I can wait_.
I may not try
To keep the hot tears back--but hush that sigh,
"It might have been";
And try to still
Each rising murmur, and to _God's sweet will_
Respond "_Amen!_"
--Miss Ophelia G. Browning.