Lie still, my child, them needest this quiet rest.
Nay, fret not at the hand that laid thee here,
For I have purposed that thou shall be blest,
To Me thou'rt dear,
I know thy service, fraught with love, and prayer,
But come with Me apart;
I'll rest thee, strengthen thee, and banish care,

Just leave these broken threads of toil to Me,
I've marked thy deep desire and fervent call,
And every burden thou hast borne for Me,
I know it all;
But just this little while I crave thy heart,
In shadowed quietness,
From every earthly heart and voice apart,
That I may richly bless.

I love my servant, and thy service well,
And long with that "Well done" thy work to crown,
And face to face, My joy in thee to tell,
My love to own.
This seeming cloud which 'cross thy path hath run,
Is but My loving hand,
To shield thy head, thy feet, from burning sun,
And glaring sand.

No cloud can cover thee but I am there;
Thy sorrows, trials, griefs, and joys are Mine,
Thy loved ones, too, are My unceasing care.
And all that's thine.
This seemingly untimely break, will hold
(Though now it seem but pain)
Some hidden treasure, purchased not with gold,
Some deep eternal gain.

If on thy willing hands I've laid my own,
A little while, to rest, and keep thee still,
To teach thee better than thou'st ever known,
To do My will.
Then rest with Me, it will not be for long,
And in eternity,
Thou'lt sing a deeper, sweeter, fuller song
Of praise, than else could be.

Helen McDowell