No chance hath brought this ill to me;
‘Tis God’s own hand, so let it be,
He seeth what I cannot see,
There is a need-be for each pain.
And He one day will make it plain,
That earthly loss is heavenly gain,
Like as a piece of tapestry,
Viewed from the back appears to be,
Naught but threads tangled hopelessly;
But in the front picture fair
Rewards the worker for his care,
Proving his skill and patience rare,
Thou art the Workmen, I the frame,
Lord, for the glory of Thy name,
Perfect Thine image on the same,

~Poem from Streams In the Desert~