Ye Have Lost A Child--nay, She Is

I Bless The Lord That All Our Troubles Come Through Christ's Fingers, And That He Casteth Sugar Among Them And Casteth In Some Ounce Withts Of Heaven And Of The Spirit Of Glory In Our Cup.

Christ Has No Velvet Crosses.

I Pray God That I May Never Find My Will Again. Oh, That Christ Would Subject My Will To His, And Trample It Under His Feet.

Oh Thrice Fools Are We Who Like New-born Princes Weeping In The Cradle Know Not That There Is A Kingdom Before Them Then Let Our Lord's Sweet Hand Square Us And Hammer Us And Strike Off The Knots Of Pride Self-love And World-worship And Infidelity That He May Make Us Stones And Pillars In His Father's House.

The Great Master Gardener, The Father Of Our Lord Jesus Christ, In A Wonderful Providence, With His Own Hand, Planted Me Here, Where By His Grace, In This Part Of His Vineyard, I Grow; And Here I Will Abide Till The Great Master Of The Vineyard Think Fit To Transplant Me.