Poems (Hoffman)/Rest (Think of it—to have spent long months of worry)
For works with similar titles, see Rest.
REST
(Phil. 4:6.)
(Phil. 4:6.)
Think of it—to have spent long months of worry
And anxious prayer and nervous, useless dread,
Over a misery that like these waters
Is coming, gone, and now forever fled.
It is the things that never come upon us
That scar our souls and turn our tresses grey;
Learn, oh my soul, from these thy many lessons,
To rest and pray!
God gives us all the time there is for labor, and love, and rest,
Then why this needless rush, and fret, and hurry?
He hath all power in Heaven and earth—why worry
When just to calmly work and pray is best?
We'd cheat old Time of half his worry wrinkles
If we could cast aside this useless care,
That little star just waits, and shines, and twinkles,
That sun a universe with glory sprinkles—
God set them there.
No work is asked for which no power is given,
And what is least on earth may be the best in heaven.
That pinioned voice, that moves hearts, nations, thrones,
For truth and right;
And that winged soul, that flutters far from sight,
Amid the tempest spray on crags and stones,
To soothe some helpless birdling's weak despair,
Must fly alike to God for rest, and in His care
Fold their tired wings in prayer.
And anxious prayer and nervous, useless dread,
Over a misery that like these waters
Is coming, gone, and now forever fled.
It is the things that never come upon us
That scar our souls and turn our tresses grey;
Learn, oh my soul, from these thy many lessons,
To rest and pray!
God gives us all the time there is for labor, and love, and rest,
Then why this needless rush, and fret, and hurry?
He hath all power in Heaven and earth—why worry
When just to calmly work and pray is best?
We'd cheat old Time of half his worry wrinkles
If we could cast aside this useless care,
That little star just waits, and shines, and twinkles,
That sun a universe with glory sprinkles—
God set them there.
No work is asked for which no power is given,
And what is least on earth may be the best in heaven.
That pinioned voice, that moves hearts, nations, thrones,
For truth and right;
And that winged soul, that flutters far from sight,
Amid the tempest spray on crags and stones,
To soothe some helpless birdling's weak despair,
Must fly alike to God for rest, and in His care
Fold their tired wings in prayer.