Some trudge with thorns that only Jesus knows,
bent arrows only Jesus could remove.
Yet burning darts remain so fire might prove
rich purity of hearts, which suff’ring shows.
Chaperoned by sorrow’s lonely silence,
while moaning winds that ride the morning mists
portend the threat’ning storms of each day’s fists,
weary souls conceal distressing violence.
But Jesus holds their slightest measured pain,
as well as most excruciating arrow,
for He who governs ev’ry falling sparrow
won’t let His children’s trials wound in vain.
And resting in His all-sufficient grace,
they’re strengthened by His love to win their race.