“PERFECT
LOVE CASTETH OUT FEAR.”
BY MARY MacCOLL SCHULTE.
How often when worn with the strife,
The trials and sorrows of life,
Hath the enemy whispered to me,
“Think’st thou Jesus careth for thee?
He heeds not thy doubts and thy fears,
in vain thy petitions and tears.”
But my heart springs to arms for her Lord,
And answers, “Tis said in His Word,
‘Not even a sparrow shall fall
Without Him.’ He watcheth o’er all;
He too was aquainted with grief,
In Him there is rest and relief.”
Then speaketh the temper again,
“Thy faith and devotion are vain,
Poor pitiful worm of the dust;
Heaven’s King careth not for thy trust.”
Poor pitiful worm of the dust;
Heaven’s King careth not for thy trust.”
Thuse He leaveth me wounded and sore,
And I grope in the shadows once more.
And I grope in the shadows once more.
Yet I call in the dark, and His face
Gleams out with its infinite grace,
The compassion Divine, the rebuke
The compassion Divine, the rebuke
Peter saw, when the dear Lord did look
Upon him, and I need not a word,
My heart seemeth rent by a sword.
Upon him, and I need not a word,
My heart seemeth rent by a sword.
Gethsemane’s garden I see-
I hear, “Could’st thou not watch with me
One hour?” O, my Saviour, afar,
Where the tents of the enemy are
I have followed, now would I draw near
With the love which admits of no fear.
No longer the pale flowers that grow
In the mist-shrouded valleys below
Content me; by faith will I stand
On the mountain top, held by Thy hand.
A conqueror resting in peace,
And joy that shall ever increase.
