If the future were uncertain,
If across the mighty deep,
Brushing back the misty curtain
Angel pinions did not sweep,—
If there were no bright to-morrow
For our day of toil and strife,
Burdened with its weight of sorrow,
What a curse were human life!
Locks are whitening, cheeks are paling,
With each month and year that flies;
Youth and vigor both are failing,
But the spirit never dies!
Short indeed is our probation,
Dark and certain is the tomb,—
But the Lamp of revelation
Dissipates the fearful gloom.
Oh, we take our life too sadly,
Ever grieve and mourn too much,
Turn to ashes what would gladly
Turn to gold beneath our touch.
’Tis because that in our blindness
We imagine God is blind,—
’Tis because we doubt his kindness,
That we cannot be resigned.
Nature cries amid the trials
That beset our thorny path:
“God outpoureth all the vials
Of his anger and his wrath!”
Such complaints are more surprising
Since the declaration runs:
“If ye be without chastising,
Then indeed, ye are not sons.”
All our future course He seeth
Better than we see our past,
And whatever he decreeth
We shall understand at last.
Let us then in our affliction
Meekly trust our gracious Lord,—
Well assured his benediction
Will ere long be our reward.
Let us beautify the present,—
There is much we all can do
That will make the year more pleasant,
For ourselves and others too.
[At one time Miss Johnson seems to have entertained
the idea of writing for publication a series of articles
entitled “Voices from a Sick-room.”
Whether she ever wrote more than one or not I cannot
say. The following is the only one we can find
among her manuscripts, and it is so thrillingly interesting
as to make us wish for more. It is dated Sept.
5, 1859.]
Draw the curtains—shut out the light of
heaven; the inner world is so full of darkness that
the sunshine of the outer world becomes painful by
contrast. Hush, little bird! don’t sing
to-day. There—all is dark and still.
Now, O wretched heart, exult in thy wretchedness; draw
the dark, heavy curtains of despair around thee; shut
out the light of hope and love; hush the voice of
praise and thanksgiving. Think of all thou hast
suffered; think of thy present misery; crowd the future
with black-robed phantoms; people every nook and corner
with horrible faces, and over all let the thunder
crash and bellow, and the winds moan and shriek, as
they moan and shriek only when the great are dying.
