As on a dark and winding roadI pressed along and bore my load
Complaining at my awful task
I met a man who this did ask:
"Why are you so despondent friend?
For rest awaits at journey's end."
"But I can see no coming rest,
Just more of this that I detest;
And now my flesh is sore," said I,
"And time draws near for me to die."
"Be strong, my child," the Stranger said,
"It just may be that when you're dead
You'll find that rest you seek in life,
In yon' fair land where is no strife."
In silence we walked on a bit,
And still within I longed to quit
Despite the things he had to say,
For Heaven seemed so far away.
"Kind Sir," said I, "What makes you think
That after death we shall not sink
Into the deepest pits of hell?
What makes you think that all is well
O'er in that land by darkness hid
That comes not 'til they've closed the lid
On our pine box and in the ground
So surely placed it safe and sound?"
"Take heart, my child," He then replied,
"The faithful shall be satisfied
When comes the end of life below
Sweet rest awaits -- this you may know:
You'll not be left then all alone
If here the Savior you have known."
Again in silence we walked on
'Til time drew near for break of dawn
I saw what seemed a gaping wound
In fear the worst I then assumed
An awful villain was this man
To take my goods his evil plan!
But in the dim light of the stars
I saw what looked to me like scars
Indeed a hole within each hand:
Confused, I did not understand...
And then His feet my eyes beheld
At once my heart within me swelled
I gazed upon His searching eyes
The Stranger I then recognized
And as the dark gave way to day
I found my Friend had gone away.
I thought upon the words He spoke
New hope within my heart awoke
And all my worries seemed so small
I found the strength to face them all!
I pressed along and bore my load
Along the dark and winding road.
It's funny how fears disappear
When to the Savior one draws near;
And how one sore perplexed, distressed:
Finds in Him comfort, peace and rest.
Now when my strength has reached its end
I stop and think of that strange Friend
Who spoke of life beyond the grave:
'Twas Christ who died, my soul to save.
..........H. L. Gradowith..........
Of course, this is not an account of an actual event. It is a
figurative narrative designed to show the hope and comfort Christ brings,
the life-changing potential in coming to Him, and the folly of bearing
one's load alone. I hope you enjoyed it. Tim Smith