But a kind Providence, even
in the sending of poverty to his afflicted one, has but tempered the
winds to the shorn lamb."
Mrs. Endicott was astonished to hear these words, falling, as they
did, with such a confiding earnestness from the pale lips of her
much-enduring friend.
"How can you speak so cheerfully?" she said. "How can you feel so
thankful to Him who has shrouded your sky in darkness, and left you
to grope in strange paths, on which falls not a single ray of
light?"
"Even though the sky is clouded," was answered, "I know that the sun
is shining there as clear and as beautiful as ever. The paths in
which a wise and good Providence has called me to walk, may be
strange, and are, at times, rough-and toilsome; but you err in
saying that no light falls upon them.
"But the sky is dark--whence comes the light, Mrs. Adair?"
"Don't you remember the beautiful hymn written by Moore? It is to me
worth all he ever penned besides. How often do I say it over to
myself, lingering with a warming heart and. a quickening pulse, on
every word of consolation!"
And in the glow of her fine enthusiasm, Mrs. Adair repeated--
"Oh, Thou, who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee!
The friends, who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes, are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone.
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