SOMETIMES I almost wonder if my Lord doth really know

About the many little things that wound my poor heart so.

I can but wonder if He knows the anguish of my soul,

When tempests beat upon my head, and surging billows roll;

I wonder if He hears at night my weary, longing sighs,

I wonder if He sees the tears that tremble in mine eyes!

I wonder if my burdens weigh upon His tender heart,

And in my many sorrows, if His great love shares a part!

Ah! no, I will not wonder. I will silence every fear,

I’ve read that “in His bottle He doth treasure up each tear;”

I know that He who heeds the smallest sparrow when it falls,

Will surely, surely hearken when His own child feebly calls;

I know that He who stilled the waves on Galilee’s dark sea,

Will bid the storms of life, “ Be still,” that rudely threaten me.

About the many, many things that wound my poor heart so!

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