Unto Myself

Unto Myself

Unto Myself, my dear child, I would bring thee!
Who like Myself thy sure solace can be?
Who can reach down, down so deeply within thee?
Give to thy heart such a full sympathy?

Mournest thou sore that thy loved ones have failed thee?
Failed, sadly failed thy true comfort to be?
“Why did they fail” dost thou ask? Let Me whisper–
“That thou should’st find thy heart’s comfort in Me.”

Unto Myself! Ah, no, not unto others,
Dearest, or sweetest, or fairest, or best;
Only in Me lieth unchanging solace;
Only in Me is thy promise of rest!

Child of My love, to Myself I would bring thee!
Not to some PLACE of most heavenly bliss:
Places, like people, may all disappoint thee,
Till thou hast learned to drink higher than this.

Unto Myself, my dear child, I would bring thee!
None like Myself thy full portion can be!
While, in my heart, there is hunger and longing
That I might find choicest treasure in thee.

Unto Myself! To Myself–not My service!
Then to most sweetly and certainly prove
That I can make thee My channel of blessing,
Use thee to shed forth the wealth of My love.
~J. Danson Smith

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