Friday Morning.
“Acquaint thyself with him, and be at peace.”
—Job xxii. 21.
Art thou acquainted, oh my soul!
With such a Saviour, such a Friend,
Whose power can all events control,
And from all evils can defend?
Why art thou then opprest with fears?
Knowledge of him should give thee peace;
Should check these often-flowing tears,
And bid these sad misgivings cease.
Is it the past that gives thee pain?
Transgressions, falls, dost thou deplore?
The atoning blood pleads not in vain,
Thy God remembers them no more.
Do present troubles vex thy mind?
Sufferings of body, mental care?
In God a refuge thou wilt find;
And oh, what sweet relief in prayer!
Dost thou o’er friends much valued weep,
Who seem in hopeless fetters bound?
Christ will seek out his wandering sheep—
Those who seem lost will then be found.
Dost thou the unknown future dread?
Thy passage through death’s awful vale?
E’en there shall light around be shed
Thy God’s sure promise cannot fail.
Dost thou with dread still greater, shrink
From pain for those on earth most dear;
And oft with sickening anguish think
On all they yet may suffer here?
Oh faithless, unbelieving heart!
So slow to trust the tenderest Friend:
Who then will needful strength impart,—
Who “loving, loves unto the end.”
No longer doubt, nor fear, nor grieve,
Nor on uncertain evils dwell:
Past, present, future, calmly leave
To him who will do all things well.