When the will has forgotten its lifelong aim
And the mind can only disgrace its fame
And a man uncertain of his own name,
The Power of the Lord shall fill this frame!

– Amy Carmichael


The Song Bird’s Song

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, who men call

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 the 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 on Mine, if I am here?
My touch will heal thy song-bird’s broken wing,
And he shall have a braver song to sing.

– Amy Carmichael


Wilt Love Me? Trust Me? Praise Me?

O thou beloved child of My desire,
Whether I lead thee through green valleys,
By still waters,
 Or through fire,
 Or lay thee down in silence under snow,
Through any weather, and whatever
Cloud may gather,
Wind may blow—
Wilt love Me? trust Me? praise Me?

No gallant bird, O dearest Lord, am I,
That anywhere, in any weather,
Rising singeth;
 Low I lie.
And yet I cannot fear, for I shall soar;
Thy love shall wing me, blessed Saviour.
So I answer, I adore Thee, love, Thee, trust Thee, praise Thee.

– Amy Carmichael


Do this and live the law commands
But gives me neither feet nor hands
A Better thing the Gospel brings,
It bids me fly and gives me wings.




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