“Have you any umbrellas to mend?”
He cries down the echoing street.
He travels the town to its end--
The city of hurrying feet.
Why so, when the broad heavens wear
No cloud and no shadow of gray?
Because, when the weather is fair,
We must think of the rainy day.
For the rainy season will come,
As it has since the world began.
And some will be ready, and some
Will have left it out of their plan.
When it comes, it is always too late
To appeal to our patient old friend.
We shall not hear his cry at the gate:
“Have you any umbrellas to mend?”
The Cross v1927
Luke 22:42. “Nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.”
Upon some fateful hour and day
Each comes to roads that cross.
Blossoms and sunshine seems one way,
The other care and loss.
The spirit will be willing there
To take the road that’s best.
The flesh will weaken, and despair,
And falter in the test.
Somewhere along the life we live
Each finds his Calvary.
There with himself each one must strive,
And win his victory.
How blessed is the pathway trod
When flesh ’neath spirit fails;
When cross the ways of self and God,
And God’s good way prevails.