It Is A Man Dying With His

There Are Many Trials In Life Which Do Not Seem To Come From Unwisdom Or Folly; They Are Silver Arrows Shot From The Bow Of God, And Fixed Inextricably In The Quivering Heart - They Are Meant To Be Borne - They Were Not Meant, Like Snow Or Water, To Melt As Soon As They Strike; But The Moment An Ill Can Be Patiently Borne It Is Disarmed Of Its Poison, Though Not Of Its Pain.

There Are Persons So Radiant, So Genial, So Kind, So Pleasure-bearin G, That You Instinctively Feel In Their Presence That They Do You Good; Whose Coming Into A Room Is Like Bringing A Lamp There.

But When We Borrow Trouble, And Look Forward Into The Future To See What Storms Are Coming, And Distress Ourselves Before They Come As To How We Shall Avert Them If They Ever Do Come, We Lose Our Proper Trustfulness In God. When We Torment Ourselves With Imaginary Dangers, Or Trials, Or Reverses, We Have Already Parted With That Perfect Love Which Casteth Out Fear.

In The Morning, We Carry The World Like Atlas; At Noon, We Stoop And Bend Beneath It; And At Night, It Crushes Us Flat To The Ground.

Temptations Are Enemies Outside The Castle Seeking Entrance. If There Be No False Retainer Within Who Holds Treacherous Parley, There Can Scarcely Be Even An Offer.