I Cannot But God Can
I cannot but God can, Oh balm for all my care!
The burden that I drop, His hand will lift and bear.
Though eagle pinions tire, I walk where I once ran,
This is my strength to know, I cannot, but He can.
I see not but God sees; Oh all sufficient light!
My dark and hidden way to Him is always bright.
My strained and peering eyes may close in restful ease,
And I in peace may sleep; I see not but He sees.
I know not but God knows; Oh blessed rest from fear!
All my unfolding days to Him are plain and clear.
Each anxious puzzled “Why?” from doubt and dread that grows,
Finds answer in this thought: I know not, but He knows.
Annie Johnson Flint
Until I Learned to Trust
Until I learned to trust,
I never learned to pray;
And I did not learn to fully trust
Till sorrows came my way.
Until I felt my weakness,
His strength I never knew;
Nor dreamed till I was stricken,
That He could see me through.
Who deepest drinks of sorrow,
Drinks deepest too of grace;
He sends the storm so He Himself
Can be our hiding place.
His heart, that seeks our highest good,
Knows well when things annoy;
We would not long for heaven,
If earth held only joy.
My life is but ‘a weaving’
Between My Lord and me,
I cannot choose the colours
He worketh steadily.
Oft times He weaveth sorrow,
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper,
And I, the underside.
Not ’till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver’s skilful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
Pain Knocked at My Door
Pain knocked at my door and said she’d come to stay.
Though I would not welcome her but bade her go away,
Still she entered —
And like my shade she followed after me,
And from her stabbing stinging sword
No moment was I free.
And then one day another knocked most gently at my door.
I cried, “No! Pain is living here; there’s no room for more.”
And then I heard His tender voice, “‘Tis I, be not afraid.”
And from that day He entered in – the difference that it made!
For though He did not bid her leave — my strange unwelcome guest,
He taught me how to live with her;
And no one ever guessed that we could dwell so sweetly here –
My Lord, and pain and I – within this fragile house of clay,
While years slip slowly by.
Is This The Right Road Home?
Is this the right road home, O Lord?
The clouds are dark and still.
The stony path is hard to tread,
Each step brings some fresh ill.
I thought the way would brighter grow,
And that the sun with warmth would glow,
And joyous songs from free hearts flow.
Is this the right road home?
Yes, child, this very path I trod,
The clouds were dark for Me,
The stony path was sharp and hard,
Not sight but faith, could see.
That at the end the sun shines bright,
Forever where there is no night,
And glad hearts rest from earth’s fierce fight.
This IS the right road home.