Fret Not Thyself

Amy Carmichael (a missionary to India last century) is one of my spiritual mother's. Elisabeth Elliot (another spiritual mother) wrote a book about Amy called "A Chance to Die". Amy wrote a lot poetry during her life time, and one of her books of poems called "Toward Jerusalem" I've had since before I was married, and have always found it encouraging. Here's one of her poems that pops into my head often:

FRET NOT THYSELF

Far in the future
Lieth a fear,
Like a long, low mist of grey,
Gathering to fall in dreary rain,
Thus doth thy heart within thee complain;
And even now thou art afraid, for round thy dwelling
The flying winds are ever telling
Of the fear that lieth grey,
Like a gloom of brooding mist upon the way.

But the Lord is always kind,
Be not blind,
Be not blind
To the shining of His face,
To the comforts of His grace.
Hath He ever failed thee yet?
Never, never: wherefore fret?
O fret not thyself, nor let
Thy heart be troubled,
Neither let it be afraid.

Near by thy footfall
Springeth a joy,
Like a new-blown little flower,
Growing for thee, to make thee glad.
Let thy countenance be no more sad,
But wake the voice of joy and health within thy dwelling,
And let thy tongue be ever telling,
Not of fear that lieth grey,
But of little laughing flowers beside the way.

For the Lord is always kind,
Be not blind,
Be not blind,
To the shining of His face,
To the comforts of His grace.
He hath never failed thee yet.
Never will His love forget.
O fret not thyself, nor let
Thy heart be troubled,
Neither let it be afraid.