To A Friend.

A poem by Eliza Paul Kirkbride Gurney

Ah! be not sad, though adverse winds may blow,
Thy patience and thy fortitude to prove;
Thy Saviour wears no frown upon his brow,
"'Tis but the graver countenance of love."

Though clouds and darkness round about him roll,
In righteousness and truth He sits enthroned;
And precious in His sight the immortal soul,
For whose deep stain of guilt His love atoned.

He makes our dearest earthly comforts flee,
Or, e'en when clustering round us, bids them pall,
That thus the "altogether lovely," He,
"Chief of ten thousand," may be all in all.

And hast thou not some blissful moments known,
Even while bowed beneath the chast'ning rod,
When to thy humble spirit it was shown
That glorious is the "City of thy God?"

Hast thou not seen the King in beauty there,
And has He not assured thy fainting heart,
That from His reconciled, His child and heir,
The covenant of His peace would ne'er depart?

Has He not fully satisfied thy soul
With the pure river of His joy and love,
Subdued each murmuring thought to his control,
And stayed thy mind on changeless things above?

When He, thou callest "Abba, Father," placed
The earnest of adoption in thine heart,
Thou wast engraven, ne'er to be effaced,[A]
Upon His holy hands, and His thou art.

Then doubt no more, for the omniscient God,
All whose mysterious ways are just and true,
In life will comfort with his staff and rod,
Be near in death, and guide thee safely through.

And when the race is run, the victory given,
How sweet with the redeemed to bear the palm,
Ten thousand times ten thousand saints in Heaven,
Who hymn eternal praises to the Lamb!

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