Showing posts with label Having our second Breakfast at Patricks.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Having our second Breakfast at Patricks.. Show all posts
Monday, December 26, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
He Leadeth Me by Henry H. Barry from latest Counsel Magazine.
In "green pastures"? Not always;
sometimes HeWho knowest best,
in kindness leadeth me
In weary ways, where heavy shadows be,
Out of the sunshine, warm and soft and bright,
Out of the sunshine, into darkest night,
I oft would faint with sorrows and affright,
Only for this: I know He holds my hand;
So, whether led in green or desert land,
I trust, although I may not understand.
Beside "still waters"? No, not always so;
Oftimes the heavy tempests 'roundme blow,
And o'er my soul the waves and billows go.
But when the storms beat loudest, and I cry
Aloud for help, the Master standeth by,
and whispers to my soul, "Lo, it is I."
Above the tempest wild I hear Him say:
"beyond this darkness lies the perfect day;
In every path of thine I lead the way.
"So, whether on the hill-tops high and fair I dwell,
or in the sunless valleys where the shadows lie,
what matter? He is there.
And more than this; where'er the pathway lead,
He gives to me no helpless, broken reed,
But His own hand, sufficient for my need.
sometimes HeWho knowest best,
in kindness leadeth me
In weary ways, where heavy shadows be,
Out of the sunshine, warm and soft and bright,
Out of the sunshine, into darkest night,
I oft would faint with sorrows and affright,
Only for this: I know He holds my hand;
So, whether led in green or desert land,
I trust, although I may not understand.
Beside "still waters"? No, not always so;
Oftimes the heavy tempests 'roundme blow,
And o'er my soul the waves and billows go.
But when the storms beat loudest, and I cry
Aloud for help, the Master standeth by,
and whispers to my soul, "Lo, it is I."
Above the tempest wild I hear Him say:
"beyond this darkness lies the perfect day;
In every path of thine I lead the way.
"So, whether on the hill-tops high and fair I dwell,
or in the sunless valleys where the shadows lie,
what matter? He is there.
And more than this; where'er the pathway lead,
He gives to me no helpless, broken reed,
But His own hand, sufficient for my need.