SOMETIMES I almost wonder if my Lord doth really know
About the many little things that wound my poor heart so.
I can but wonder if He knows the anguish of my soul,
When tempests beat upon my head, and surging billows roll ;
I wonder if He hears at night my weary, longing sighs,
I wonder if He sees the tears that tremble in mine eyes !
I wonder if my burdens weigh upon His tender heart,
And in my many sorrows, if His great love shares a part !

Ah! no, I will not wonder, I will silence every fear,
I've read that "in His bottle He doth treasure up each tear ;"
I know that He who heeds the smallest sparrow when it falls,
Will surely, surely hearken when His own child feebly calls ;
I know that He who stilled the waves on Galilee's dark sea,
Will bid the storms of life, "Be still," that rudely threaten me.
Ah! no, I do not wonder, I am sure my Lord doth know
About the many, many things that wound my poor heart so !