Love’s Chastening Hand

It is good for me, Lord,

That Thou chastenest still,

For I wander so easily

Out of Thy will.

When paths are all sunshine,

And skies are all blue,

When those that I love

All prove steadfast and true,

I pause through the day

For a few words of prayer,

Petition for guidance,

Thanksgiving for care;

I read a few chapters–

Or perhaps a few lines

For I am so rushed

and so tired at times;

And I oft grow too busy

To sit at Thy feet,

To list to Thy voice,

And find fellowship sweet.

‘Tis then I grow careless,

Prayer loses its power,

And the sly adversary

My soul would devour.

Then Thy kind hand of love

Draws the sunshine away,

And storms of temptation,

Black clouds of dismay

Sweep madly upon me;

I bow in despair.

All earth seems against me;

Has God ceased to care?

As a child to its mother,

I flee to Thy breast;

There I pour out my heart

And find comfort and rest.

All vain phrases of prayer

And all ritual flee,

And my heart and my soul

Learn communion with Thee

And I rise up rejoicing

For trials, God-given,

That woo me from earth,

That bind me to heaven.

By Barbara C. Ryberg