My Songbird is Broken

Nothing in the House

by Amy Carmichael

 

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 truly hath not anything,

And see, my song-bird hath a broken wing.

 

My servant, I have come into thy 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 song-bird's broken wing

And he shall have a braver song to sing.

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