“O tired heart!
God knows,
Not you nor I
Who reach our hands for gifts
That wise hands must deny.
We blunder where we fain would do our best,
Until a weary; then we cry, ‘Do thou the rest!
And in his hands the tangles threads we place
Of our poor blind weaving, with a shamed face.
All trust of ours he sacredly will keep;
So, tired heart, God knows; go thou to work or sleep.”
There are times when God seems to be silent to us. To our earnest supplications he answers not a word. We are told to ask and we shall receive — to seek, and we shall find — to knock, and it shall be opened unto us. Yet there come times when we ask imploringly, and seem not to receive; when, though we seek with intense eagerness, we seem not to find; when we knock until our hands are bruised and bleeding, and there seems to be no opening of the door. Sometimes the heavens appear to be brass above us as we ask, “Is there anywhere an ear to hear our pleadings? Is there anywhere a heart to feel sympathy with us in our need?”
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