by Hannah Coddingham 1916
O’ tired heart,
Not you or I,
Who reached out hands for gifts,
That wise love most deny;
We blunder where we fain would do our best.
Until a-weary then we cry, “Do Thou the rest.”
And in His hands the tangled threads we place
Of our poor, blind wearing, with a shamed face –
All trust of ours He sacredly will keep,
So tried heart – God knows – go thou to work or sleep.
O’ tired heart,
Where we but guess,
Of unknown future years,
Their joys or bitterness.
For us are finite, limited, enfurled
His vision in its sweep reaches from world to world
Our hidden, complex selves, His eye doth see,
And with exceeding tenderness, weighs equally.
O wisdom, infinite! O love never can o’erwhelm!
Rest, tried heart – God knows, give unto Him the helm.
An Alaskan Author, Prospector, Homeschool Teacher, Ordained Minister,
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