by Lucy M. Young
Why must he die, dear Lord?
He is so young.
He has so much to give,
So much to live for.
He never tried to hurt his fellow man;
Was always ready with a helping hand,
A cheerful word,
A smile.
He is not perfect and he made mistakes
As do we all;
But he was never cruel by design.
I must not question Your decision, Lord.
I must accept Your will;
But, Lord, forgive me when I ask once more,
Why must he die so young?
by Lucy M. Young
I thank You, Lord, that I can see
The deep blue sky, the restless sea;
The stars at night, the sun by day
The flowers that bloom along my way.
I thank You, Lord, that I can hear
The sound of things that I hold dear -
The songs of birds, a glad refrain,
The symphony of wind and rain.
I thank You, Lord, that I can touch
And feel the things that mean so much -
A friendly hand, a gentle shower,
The velvet petals of a flower.
I thank You, Lord, that I can savor,
Not only food of every flavor,
But life as well, and love and gladness,
Seasoned with a touch of sadness.
For joy and pain go hand in hand,
And 'though we may not understand
Why this must be, I thank You for
These things, and will not ask for more.
by Lucy M. Young
A gift is not a real gift
Unless it hurts to give it,
And we can't find true joy in life
'Less it hurts a bit to live it.
To give away a useless thing
Or something we don't need
Is like throwing trash in the fire
Or pulling up a weed.
If we give away a lovely thing
We care about and treasure,
Our small amount of sacrifice
Makes giving it a pleasure.
Could we really see the beauty
Of a lovely sunny day,
If skies were always bright and blue
And never a stormy gray?
Could we enjoy a bright today
And never dread tomorrow
If we have not experienced
A bit of grief and sorrow?
So we must live with joy and pain,
And share our choicest treasure
To ever know true happiness
And love in boundless measure.
Woodsmoke and Cardamom 