150
"MY INFIRMITY".
The drops that in sadness fell,
Ever fresh springs rise in the darkness,
Deep from the fathomless well.
Then to run as a river—
Ever fresh springs rise in the darkness,
Deep from the fathomless well.
Then to run as a river—
A river of truth and joy—
A river to flow for ever,
When cisterns of earth are dry,
Bearing a brother's burden
Over the dark world's flood,
Filling a thousand fountains
To gladden the City of God.
A river to flow for ever,
When cisterns of earth are dry,
Bearing a brother's burden
Over the dark world's flood,
Filling a thousand fountains
To gladden the City of God.
"MY INFIRMITY."
"He that spared not His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?"—Rom. viii. 32.
"Hath God forgotten to be gracious? hath He in anger shut up His tender mercies? And I said, This is my infirmity."—Psalm lxxvii. 9, 10.
I wept by the misty headland,
Down by the sea;
And none in that hour of anguish
Stood there by me.
"Within and without was midnight;
Where once had been
The smile of the Lord who loved me,
No Lord was seen.
Down by the sea;
And none in that hour of anguish
Stood there by me.
"Within and without was midnight;
Where once had been
The smile of the Lord who loved me,
No Lord was seen.
