| The Hidden Life |
Chapter 4 |
Page 3 |
We may find comfort in the same consciousness. If Jesus did not know us perfectly, if he, like men, judged only from our acts, our behaviour, and then we could not make such an appeal. But he sees into our heart. The sincere love for him which we know we have, in spite of all that seems so contradictory of love, he sees. So we can ever, with simple confidence, say, “Thou knowest,” and rest there.
“I strive, but fail; oh, why, dear Lord,
Must this my constant record be?
Why finds each daily westering sun
My work for thee but half begun,
Or done, alas! So selfishly?
I’m tempted oft, and often yield,
For Pleasure hath a siren voice;
She sings my scruples quite away,
And with her charming roundelay
Deprives me of the power of choice.
My faith is strong when skies are bright;
But sunny days are all too brief.
When clouds arise, and sorrows come,
My lips are sealed, my heart is dumb,
And full of weary unbelief.
But this, dear Lord, my comfort is:
My troubled heart is known to thee;
Thou knowest that I love thee, Lord;
And, Saviour mine, I love thy word
That this shall my salvation be.”
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