Through tears and pain, I serve my Lord,
A slave for Christ my King.
To reap the fields of human souls,
That they his praise might bring.
As years go by, I feel the loss
Of strength and mental might,
Of friends and family, Christian souls,
Who once were my delight
O Lord, I cry, how long must I,
Endure this keen distress?
How long until you judge the earth,
in perfect righteousness?
How many more, must I observe,
Abandon Christ my Lord?
Though tears I spill and pleas I make,
Your words are still ignored?
Then in my dark, a still small voice—
He answered to my plea,
With words from Scripture I have read,
To bless and comfort me.
O little child, do you know where
The mountain goats give birth?
For if you don’t, then do not think
You know your suffering’s worth.
For though you walk through death’s dark vale,
My rod and staff shall be,
Your comfort till you reach the end,
And find your rest in me.
Your faithful aunt who passed away,
Your dear old pastor friend,
The little girl, you laid to rest,
Shall rise at this world’s end.
This pain in life is but a light
And momentary chore
But one day in my glorious land,
Your grief will be no more!
By faith not feel, he strengthened me,
To preach and wage the war,
With grace for but another day,
But promises of more.
