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Old 02-12-2009, 09:00 AM   #223
Rush'd Lady
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Default a mother's grief . . . I found these too!

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Dear Little Lamb
By Olga J. Weiss

Dear little lamb on the Shepherd's breast,
Closely enfolded, how sweet is your rest;
Forever shielded from earthly alarms,
Perfectly safe in His mighty arms.
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He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs in his arms
And carries them close to his hear:
He gently leads those that have young.
~~ Isaiah 40:11, NIV.
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Is It Well With The Child?
The Letter
By Fay Inchfawn.

Dear Lord,
It is the child--about the child
I'm writing to You, telling all my heart--
My poor torn heart, so tempest-tossed and wild--
Left to me desolate.
Faith, sore-eyed and distressed,
Forgets her high behest--
Hope, ready to depart--
And only Love remains
As warm and wistful now
As in the days
When little Dancing Feet
Slid down the household ways.
For, Lord, You took the child.
I do not reason with You, though, for that.
But here's my plaint--just this:
I ache for news--
There, in the heavenly bliss,
How is it with the child?
Long days I sat
So still, in the still house, and said no word;
And if You spoke to me, I never heard.
But now, tonight
I sit alone to let my soul indite
This letter to my God.
I want to know
About the child--I, Lord, who loved her so.
My spirit always sang
When her dear voice out-rang.
And something in me cried
When small ills came and settled at her side.
I tended her--yes, hair and hands and toes.
I knew her, sleeping--waking--
Planned her clothes.
And it is I-- Lord--I, who ask some sign,
Some tidings of the child who once was mine;
For I was nearer her than any other--
Her Mother.

The Reply.

Dear Soul,
I have so many things to say,
But, yet you cannot bear them, not today--
I know and understand.
The promise that My hand
Shall help and strengthen
Seems far-off and strange--
At best a poor exchange
For those remembered days,
For all the dear one's wiles
And pretty ways.
Yet, let your spirit come to Me--to Me.
There is no other in the universe
Who can your comfort be.
For who in all the universe
Could prove so skilled and fit
To mollify the broken heart
As He who fashioned it?
You sat so still, and wondered all the while
How she would fare
Without your kiss--your smile/
You were so joined to her, you half-forgot
That I was there.
I comprehended her when you could not.
But was I unaware?
That anguished night
Before the darling came
You cried to Me.
You called upon My name
That helpless passionate word
I--the life-giver--heard!
And you poor wrestler
Found your faith prevail,
The Little Ship set sail.
Yes, ventured forth into life's stormy sea,
Bound by the limits of mortality.
Listen, Poor Heart! That far-off hour is passed.
I am the First. Also, I am the Last.
I have her first faint breath
And in the hour of death
I wrapped her round
And held her-- held her fast.
Down all the ages, not a fledgling bird
Has fallen as it flew
But I, its Maker, felt My being stirred,
I-- the All-Loving--knew.
The child--the child--is by Me. Oh! then come
To Me-- the only lawful Medium.
She walks the glory-side of Me
So, to the other
Come now--come near--
Poor broken-hearted Mother.
News of the child? How is it with her? Where
Is God's high heaven? What is she doing there?
Why, if I told you, if I let you see
The radiant joys she has for company,
If I should draw aside
The curtain--
Leave the casement open wide
For just one moment--
Flesh and blood would fail.
So in His Love
The Father hung the veil,
Some blessed day
It shall be rent in twain,
And you shall come
Into your own again.
O wavering heart!
Then let this thought enfold you:
That if it were not so
I would have told you.
Until that day, that hour of joy so sweet,
Can you trust Me with little Dancing Feet?
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