By A Disciple

Be assured of God . . .

What power is it then,

After the labor's close,

After the sowing, the reaping.

—Hushes the hearts of men

Over the million of miles of earth,

Beneath which those we love

Lie sleeping, sleeping?


Oh, that a time might come

When in my life

The overshadowing greater part of me

Would never cease to urge,

In still small voice,

My steps, that falter toward Infinity.

A time when I would never lose the Light

That drives before it all the evil powers;

Nor suffer, blindly groping for His hand—

When I would know

No more unguarded hours!

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