171. I Want to Pour the Scent of Gratefulness at Thy Feet
The doomsday clouds of inevitable happenings thundered; the showers of quick-flickering joys and hard-beating trials shot out to drench and drown the soil of my courage; a million difficulties sprang forth with knives of destruction, ready to stab me.
When cannons of uncertainties are booming, and shells of suffering are falling fast around me, then must Thou make me feel that I am protected in the impregnable trench of Thine immortal arms.
When the light of fortune dawns on the dark tree of hard struggles, it is easy for its answering flowers of gratitude to open out and welcome the light of Thy grace.
During the dark nights of misfortune, I want the flowers of my appreciation to exhale the scent of gratefulness at Thy feet of sacred silence.