Consider the lilies, how they grow.
I need oil,” said an ancient monk; so he planted an olive sapling. “Lord,” he prayed, “it needs rain that its tender roots may drink and swell. Send gentle showers.” And the Lord sent gentle showers. “Lord,” prayed the monk, “my tree needs sun. Send sun, I pray Thee.” And the sun shone, gilding the dripping clouds. “Now frost, my Lord, to brace its tissues,” cried the monk. And behold, the little tree stood sparkling with frost, but at evening it died.
Then the monk sought the cell of a brother monk, and told his strange experience. “I, too, planted a little tree,” he said, “and see! it thrives well. But I entrust my tree to its God. He who made it knows better what it needs than a man like me. I laid no condition. I fixed not ways or means. ’’Lord, send what it needs,’’ I prayed, ’storm or sunshine, wind, rain, or frost. Thou hast made it and Thou dost know.’’”
Yes, leave it with Him,
The lilies all do,
And they grow–
They grow in the rain,
And they grow in the, dew–
Yes, they grow:
They grow in the darkness, all hid in the night–
They grow in the sunshine, revealed by the light–
Still they grow.
Yes, leave it with Him
’tis more dear to His heart,
You will know,
Than the lilies that bloom,
Or the flowers that start
’’Neath the snow:
Whatever you need, if you seek it in prayer,
You can leave it with Him– for you are His care.
You, you know.
Cowman Streams In The Desert March 29