Like unexpected cool, refreshing rain
showered on the evil and the just,
joy seeps through lingering clouds of grief and pain,
sprinkling those who do and do not trust.
On chance and circumstance this joy depends
Öperilously totters on a rail.
A sudden gust or shifting of the winds
topples and defeats its effort frail.
This joy erupts, but soon it must elapse,
as surely as a wilting withering leaf.
Beholden, it drifts just beyond my grasp,
a temporary bliss however brief.
Yet there exists a rare, uncommon joy
for those who lean upon the Fatherís breast;
one that doom and crisis canít destroy,
regardless how they put it to the test.
Planted deep, this joy springs from the Source.
The Spirit tends His flourishing fruit with care.
Inspiring and efficacious force,
His bounteous, blessed gift He's pleased to share.
Still, joy is tempered here by sin and woe.
The bridegroom yearns to make my joy complete!
Consummate, boundless streams of joy will flow,
Immersing me before His mercy seat.
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