Father, perfect my trust;
Let my spirit feel in death
That her feet are firmly set
On the rock of a living faith!
If you tell your troubles to God, you put them into the grave; they will never rise again when you have committed them to Him. If you roll your burden anywhere else, it will roll back again like the stone of Sisyphus.
The believer is no burden to his God, and even if you should be carrying whole mountains of care and solicitude, they will not make you more burdensome or your case more difficult to the Creator of the ends of the earth. He fainteth not, neither is weary.
On Thee we fling our burdening woe,
O love Divine, forever dear:
Content to suffer, while we know,
Living and dying, Thou art near!
I have never committed the least matter to Him that I have not had reason for endless praise.
We want to know more than the silent God deems it good to tell; to understand the "why" which He bids us wait to ask; to see the path which He has spread on purpose in the dark. The Infinite Father does not stand by us to be catechised, and explain Himself to our vain mind; He is here for our trust.
