I want to share in closing a poem, based in Job 13:15, written by a lady named Mary Kimbrough:
“Though He slay me, I will trust Him,”
Said the sainted Job of old;
“Though He try me in the furnace,
I shall then come forth as gold.
“Though the ‘worms of deep affliction’
Cause this body to decay,
In my flesh I shall behold Him —
My Redeemer—some glad day.”
“Though He slay me”—can I say it
When I feel the searing fire,
When my fondest dreams lie shattered —
Gone my hope and fond desire?
“Though He slay me, I will trust Him,”
For He knows just how to mold,
How to melt and shape my spirit —
I shall then come forth as gold!
(Our Daily Bread, January 3, 1995)