Janet Hamilton

1795-1873 / Scotland

Trust In God

Thus God hath said: Unblessed is he
Who makes an arm of flesh his trust;
Whose heart departs from God shall see
His blossom'd hopes go up like dust.
Like heath in desert-scorch'd and bare,
'Neath eastern summer's burning noon-
That bears no bud, nor blossom fair,
Bestows no sweetly fragrant boon.
When clouds drop fatness to the sky,
It holds no tiny, purple cup;
Though dews upon its branches lie,
It drinks no living juices up.
A parch'd, a herbless, treeless, wild,
A land of salt and rifted stone,
Where man hath never dwelt and toiled,
There shall he dwell alone, alone.
But blest is he-how great his gain!-
Who trusts in God! When storms assail
Him, everlasting arms sustain-
His founts of mercy never fail.
Like stately tree, whose branches wave
Their wealth of foliage o'er the stream,
That spreads its roots where waters lave,
Nor fears the fervid solar beam.
Its quivering leaves, so darkly green,
Shall fan the glowing brow of noon;
Or, dropp'd with dewy brillants' sheen,
Shall glisten 'neath the cloudless moon.
Who trusts in God, no weeping fears,
No wasting cares his soul disarm;
When killing droughts bring famined years,
He trusts in God and smiles at harm.
His teeming boughs, with mellow fruit,
In rich and ruddy beauty glow;
And why? the living, spreading root
Is planted where the waters flow.
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