The Cure

.For a hurting friend.

Lacking love,
She flees to Him.
For never does He deny,
Those whose food, are
The tears they cry.

Waning vision,
To lift up her heart.
Weighted down, here on earth,
By the seeming shame,
Of such a mirth.

Weary, waiting,
Her feet drag through mire.
When will the end be in sight?
For surely, this dream,
Makes for the longest night.

Lacking joy,
Silence, louder than songs.
How can blessing herein be seen?
When storms blow every day,
Making Hope totter and lean?

Ragged, hurt,
She pleads for life.
From our Faithful Friend,
Whose healing hands wash,
And, to every sorrow, tend.

Yes, high above,
Reigns a redeeming King.
Within His perfectly good will,
He’s working, through what’s unseen,
And holds to Promises still.

In blind trust,
He bids her, “Still run!”
A more glorious story,
Is being woven through troubles,
Towards the eternal weight of eternal glory.

Appointed grace,
He promises to the humble.
In bountiful measure,
See! Manna from heaven,
Flows steadily down, a daily treasure.

Fear not,
Dearest friend of my life!
How this injustice can seem so bitter,
Yet, our Father is the Great Physician,
Who, in perfect time, will perform the Cure.