I sat in the school of sorrow,
The Master was teaching there;
But my eyes were dim with weeping,
And my heart was full of care.
Instead of looking upward,
And seeing His face divine,
So full of the tenderest pity
For weary hearts like mine
I only thought of the burden,
The cross that before me lay;
So hard, and heavy to carry,
That it darkened the light of day.
So I could not learn my lesson,
And say, “Thy will be clone!”
And the Master came not near me,
As the weary hours went on.
At last, in my heavy sorrow,
I looked from the cross above;
And I saw the Master watching,
With a glance of tender love.
He turned to the cross before me,
And I thought I heard Him say,
“ My child, thou must bear thy burden
And learn thy task today.
“ I may not tell the reason,
‘Tis enough for thee to know
That I, the Master, am teaching,
And give this cup of woe.”
So I stooped to that weary sorrow;
One look at that face divine
Had given me power to trust Him,
And say, “ Thy will, not mine.”
And thus I learned my lesson,
Taught by the Master alone;
He only knows the tears I shed,
For He has wept His own.
But from them came a brightness,
Straight from the home above,
When the school life will be ended,
And the cross will show the love.
Clifton. E. A. G.