Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Autumn gold

Life’s autumn
by Amy Carmichael

Great Giver of my lovely green in spring
A dancing, singing green upon my tree
The green has passed: I have no song to sing;
What will my autumn be?

Must it be, though alive, as all but dead?
A heavy-footed and a silent thing?
Effectless, sapless, tedious, limited --
A withered vanishing?

Thus I; but He to me: “Have I not shown
In autumn woodland and on mountain fell
The splendor of My purpose for Mine own?
Fear not, for all is well.

“And thou shalt see, My child, what I will do --
For as thy lingering autumn days unfold…
The lovely singing green of hitherto,
Will come to thee in gold.”


When my leaves fall, wilt Thou encompass them?
The gold of autumn flown, the bare branch brown,
The brittle twig and temp,
The tired leaves drooping down –
Wilt Thou encompass that which men call dead?
I see the rain, the coldly smothering snow…
My leaves dispirited,
Lie very low.

So the heart questioned, white winter near;
Till, jocund as the glorious voice of spring,
Cometh His: “Do not fear,
But sing, rejoice and sing…
For sheltered by the cover of snow
Are secrets of delight, and there shall be
Uprising that shall show
All that through winter I prepared for thee!”

“And in the night His song shall be with me, even a prayer unto the God of my life.”

If it were not so

I thought I heard my Savior say to me:
“My love will never weary, child, of thee.”
Then, in me, whispering doubtfully and low:
How can that be?
He answered me,
“But if it were not so,
I would have told thee.”

I thought I heard my Savior say to me:
“My strength encamps on weakness – so on thee.”
And when a wind of fear did through me blow –
How can that be?
He answered me,
“But if it were not so,
I would have told thee.”

O most fine Gold
That naught in me can dim,
Eternal Love
That hath her home in Him
Whom, seeing not, I love,
I worship Thee!

Silent desire

As the misty bluebell wood,
Very still and shadowy,
Does not seek, far less compel
Several word from several bell,
But lifts up her quiet blue –
So all my desire is before Thee.

For the prayer of human hearts
In the shadow of the Tree,
Various as the various flowers,
Blown by wind and wet by showers,
Rests at last in silent love –
Lord, all my desire is before Thee.




cf. Amy Carmichael, Toward Jerusalem (Fort Washington, PA: CLC Publications, 2003), 64-70.

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