Blessed (Anonymous)

If all my days were sunny, could I say,
“In His fair land He wipes all tears away?"
If I were never weary, could I keep
Close to my heart, “He gives His loved ones sleep?"
Were no graves mine, might I not come to deem
The Life Eternal but a baseless dream?
My winter, and my tears, and weariness,
Even my graves, may be His way to bless.
I call them ills; yet that can surely be
Nothing but love that shows my Lord to me!


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