Hymns and Poems

An angel of comfort from heaven sped— All nature brightened as he drew near Where a poor man toiled in his lowly shed And thanked the Lord for his scanty bread; The angel breathed in the Christian’s ear, “Thy God beholds, and will not forget; Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”

He spread his pinions, then paused again Where prayer from a sick man’s couch was heard; In weary weakness, in restless pain, For tedious months had the sufferer lain, But his pale face beamed at the whispered word: “Thy God beholds, and will not forget; Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”

Then the angel flew where a mother prayed For a son on a course of evil bent; She wept—half trustful and half afraid, Beseeching Him who alone could aid; And to her was the message of comfort sent— “Thy God beholds, and will not forget; Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”

With cares depressed, and with trials worn, A persecuted believer knelt;

With drooping heart she had meekly borne The unkind taunt and the look of scorn, Till the angel’s smile was like sunshine felt.

“Thy God beholds, and will not forget; Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”

Then the seraph hovered where death had been, In its little coffin an infant lay; The parents wept, but a calm serene Stole over their souls, as a hand unseen Gently wiped the trickling tears away.

“Your God beholds, and will not forget; Your bud shall blossom in glory yet!”

Happy such to whom griefs come not in vain, Though afflictions bow, or the world contemn, Thrice blest in sorrow, thrice blest in pain, Reproach is honour, and loss is gain, For the angel of peace shall visit them— Their God beholds, and will not forget; Their rod shall blossom in glory yet!