A sun that's always shining,
Blue skies with not a cloud,
A pathway lined with roses,
Where hurdles are never allowed,
No raindrops hiding the rainbow,
Nor stormy billows despair,
But mirth and laughter abideth
And gone is the burdensome care.
Such would be ever my lot
If life was within my control;
I'd banish all pain and sorrow,
For happiness would be my goal.
But the pot is put through the fire
And the gold is purged from its dross,
While weakness is turned into strength
Through bearing the weight of a cross.
The angriest storm that rages
Is the magnificent sunset at last,
And the dawn is always the brightest
When the darkest of nights has past.
The flowers of spring are gayest
After the winter's bitterest chill,
And music is never so lovely,
But when sung while the heart resteth still.
For, when pain and sorrow appear
And threaten to strip us of life,
Many are those who will seek God,
But only to save them from strife.
Oh, who is the one who will cry out,
When deep darkness hideth his light,
"Oh, where is God, my Maker,
Who giveth me songs in the night?"
Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2015
"By reason of the multitude of oppressions they make the oppressed to cry:
they cry out by reason of the arm of the mighty. But none saith, Where is God
my Maker, who giveth songs in the night?"
~ Job 35:9-10 ~