| Making the Most of Life |
Chapter 6 |
Page 8 |
There is no need to try to solve that old, yet always new, question of human hearts, “Why does God permit so much suffering in his children?” It is idle to ask this question, and all efforts at answering it are not only vain, but they are even irreverent. We may be sure, however, of one thing that in every pain and trial there is a blessing folded. We may miss it, but it is there, and the loss is ours if we do not get it. Every night of sorrow carries in its dark bosom its own lamps of comfort. The darkness of grief and trial is full of benedictions.
“The dark hath many dear avails;
The dark distils divinest dews;
The dark is rich with nightingales,
With dreams, and with the heavenly muse.
Of fret, of dark, of thorn, of chill,
Complain thou not, my heart, for these
Bank in the current of the will.”
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