WAS it the Lord who shut me in
Between these walls of pain?
Who drew between me and the sun
The darkening curtains, one by one,
Cold storm and bitter rain,
Hiding all happy things and fair,
The flying birds, the blowing air,
And bidding me to lie,
All sick of heart and faint and blind,
Waiting his will to loose or bind,
To give or to deny?
Was it the Lord who shut me in
Within this place of doubt?
I chose not doubt, my doubt chose me,
Not unpermitted, Lord, of thee,—
It had not dared without:
What doubt shall venture to uprear
And whisper in a human ear,
If thou, Lord, dost forbid?
Yet is it of thy blessed will
That I sit questioning, grieving, chill,
Nor joy as once I did?
Is it the Lord that shuts me in?
Then I can bear to wait!
No place so dark, no place so poor,
So strong and fast no prisoning door,
Though walled by grievous fate,
But out of it goes fair and broad
An unseen pathway, straight to God,
By which I mount to thee.
When the same Love that shut the door
Shall lift the heavy bar once more,
And set the prisoner free.