I RATHER have my needs met by thee
Than to have mortal hands help me:
For thou givest without upbraiding;
Man giveth with much complaining!
Mortal barns are for a short season;
As soon as it riseth, it declineth anon!
The store above, reduceth in nought:
It's ever great and always constant!
Of what profit is it to repair to man
Then, whose own provision is lean?
Oh how refreshing to turn to the sky,
Whose supply never would run dry!
My wants are huge and staggering:
And man, thine granary is but thin;
Judge ye, should I hang on thy help?
Nay, of thee, there can be but a drop!
Cursed am I, if I make man my trust;
Pitiable, if I build hope on just a dust!
Man at best, is but just a melting ice:
A smoking flax and a broken artifice!
Trust to the royal hand of God above
Toward Him, thy faith should move;
Turn thy gaze on His great resources,
And thou shalt in Him greatly rejoice!
-MR. OJOJE(The least of all)