Is life a mere eternal wait?
Does bitter color each one’s fate?
Is optimism kept in vain
by him who hopes to
transcend pain?
Should I often cry out to Heaven . . .
lay down my yoke . . . my
long kept shame?
Does He who keeps His footstool here
bestow a mere glance as we
fear?
But am I not an heir of His?
Can I not claim a life of bliss?
. . . And why, instead, a thorn in the flesh?
Is this what’s meant by being blest?
Oh, hush, my troubled soul . . . be still;
Inquire no more . . . hush, feel your seal;
Just yield up to Him . . . near is the hour;
Soon all your trials will be over.
“For our light and momentary
troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.”
– 2 Corinthians 4: 17
philip briana
December 13, 1991
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