Pray

Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing

2 Corinthians 6:10

A stoic person despises the shedding of tears,
but are not forbidden to weep.

Our soul may become silent from excessive grief,
just as the quivering sheep may remain quiet
beneath the scissors of the shearer.

Or, when the heart is at the verge of breaking
beneath the waves of a trial,
the sufferer may seek relief by crying out
with a loud voice.

But there is something even better.

It is said that springs of sweet, fresh water pool up
amid the saltiness of the oceans,

that the fairest Alpine flowers bloom in the wildest
and most rugged mountain passes,

and that the most magnificent psalms arose from
the most profound agonies of the soul.

May it continue to be! Therefore, amid a multitude of trials,
souls who love God will discover reasons for boundless, leaping joy.

Even though “deep calls to deep”

Ps 42:7

the clear cadence of the Lord’s song will be heard.
And during the most difficult hour that could ever
enter a human life,

it will be possible to bless the God & Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Have we learned this lesson yet?

Not simply to endure or to choose God’s will but to rejoice in it “

“with an inexpressible and glorious joy”

1 Peter 1:8

from Tried by Fire

I will be still, my bruised heart faintly murmured,
As o’er me rolled a crushing load of woe;
My words, my cries, e’en my low moan was stifled;
I pressed my lips; I barred the teardrop’s flow.

I will be still, although I cannot see it,
The love that bares a soul and fans pain’s fire;
That takes away the last sweet drop of solace,
Breaks the lone harp string, hidesYour precious lyre.

But God is love, so I will stay me, stay me—
We’ll doubt not, Soul, we will be very still;
We’ll wait till after while, when He will lift us—
Yes, after while, when it will be His will.

And I did listen to my heart’s brave promise;
And I did quiver, struggling to be still;
And I did lift my tearless eyes to Heaven,
Repeating ever,”Yes, Christ, have Your will.”

But soon my heart spoke up from ‘neath our burden,
Rebuked my tight-drawn lips, my face so sad:
“We can do more than this, O Soul,” it whispered.
“We can be more than still, we can be glad!”

And now my heart and I are sweetly singing—
Singing without the sound of tuneful strings;
Drinking abundant waters in the desert;
Crushed, and yet soaring as on eagle’s wings.

S. P. W.

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