Household Wounds by Amy Carmichael

Yes, of a truth, there shall be hidden wounding.

Strange are the gifts Love sends:

Trample the will of flesh, seek first the kingdom,

Despise all private ends–

Then shalt thou know a bruising and a grieving,

And in the house of friends.


Thy house of friends dealt hardly with Thee, Savior;

Thorns were Thy bitter dower,

Thorns that, when given to us, quickened to budding

Break sudden into flower.

Oh, solemn joy, if I may wear the garland

And watch with Thee one hour.


Only an hour–then treasures of the darkness

Like unto jewels pure,

Shall sparkle forth in light. Tarries the vision?

Wait for it; it is sure.

Oh, blessed then the servant who through wounded

Did still exult, endure.


Right are Thy ways, great Leader of Thy people;

Sweet are Thy comfortings!

Who companies with Thee, O Man of Sorrows,

And unoffended brings

A quiet heart, finds household wounds forgotten,

And, unawares, he sings.

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