"Thy servant, Lord, hath nothing in the house,
Not even one small pot of common oil;
For he who never cometh but to spoil
Hath raided my poor house again, again,
That ruthless strong man armed, whom men call Pain.
I thought that i had courage in the house,
And patience to be quiet and endure,
And sometimes happy songs; now i am sure
Thy servant hath not anything,
And see, my songbird hath a broken wing.
My servant, I have come into the house -
I who know Pain's extremity so well
That there can never be the need to tell
His power to make the flesh and spirit quail:
Have I not felt the scourge, the thorn, the nail?
And I, his Conqueror, am in the house,
Let not your heart be troubled, do not fear:
Why shouldst thou, child of Mine, if I am here?
My touch will heal thy songbird's broken wing,
And he shall have a braver song to sing.
- Poem by Amy Carmichael -
Although i know little of the real suffering caused by physical pain that she describes... the rest of the poem does describe how i feel..... and i'm grateful for the last 2 verses, written from God's perspective, reminding us that we are never completely empty, when He abides with us...