God of Stars and Flowers

O God of stars and flowers, forgive our blindness;
No dream of night had dared what Thou has wrought!
New every morning is Thy loving kindness,
Far, far above what we had asked or thought.

So, under every sky, our "Alleluia,"
With flowers of morning and with stars of night,
Shall praise Thee, O Lord Jesus - Alleluia -
Till Thou shalt fold all shadows up in light.

- Amy Carmichael, Mountain Breezes

"In that cloud thou shalt behold My face"

The Cloud

I thought the way upon the mountainside
Would lead to certain clearness; but my Guide,
Whose thought was otherwise,
Led to a cloud which blotted out the skies.

I feared to enter into that great cloud,
And fearing, cried aloud,
"O patient Guide, I fear;
Be not far from me now, with trouble near."

"Let not thy heart be troubled. Could I cease
To care for thee?
Can vapors cancel peace, My gift of peace?
O rest in Me.
I wait to meet the in that cloudy place,
And in that cloud thou shalt behold My face."

- Amy Carmichael, Mountain Breezes

"Come there gain or loss"

For Me?

Lord Jesus, Redeemer,
Didst Thou die for me?
For me, Lord a sinner -
How could such love be?
O fairest Lord Jesus,
Didst thou suffer scorn?
For me, Lord, a sinner,
Wear a crown of thorn?

And were Thy hands wounded,
Wounded, Lord, for me?
Thy holy feet pierced
On the bitter Tree?
And, Lord, wast Thou thirsty,
Thirsty, Lord, for me?
O fairest Lord Jesus,
How could such love be?

O make my heart tender;
Pardon, pardon me,
That ever forgetful,
I have grieved Thee.
I would be Thy lover,
Taking up my cross,
Thy lover forever,
Come there gain or loss.

- Amy Carmichael, Mountain Breezes

"What Riot of Joy"

Greater Joy

It was a great full moon
That hung low in the west,
But the dear little birds sang everywhere,
And the unborn dayspring blest.

Not one singing bird could be seen,
But every bush and brier
Was astir with the sound of the music they made,
That sweet invisible choir.

The hills in the wonderful light
Sat listening, grave and mild,
And they folded the plains in their gentle arms
As a mother might her child

And high in the still, white air,
All in the soft moonshine,
They rose and rose to a pearly peak
Like a faraway holy shrine.

If this can be with the world
In the setting of the moon,
With what riot of joy will it welcome Thee back,
O Sun that art coming soon!

- Amy Carmichael, Mountain Breezes - The Collected Poems of Amy Carmichael