The World May Rage Poem by Isadora Quagmire

The world may rage, with sorrows deep and long,
And weary hearts may echo a sad song.
A pilgrim's path, through valleys often dim,
Where shadows fall, and faith feels faint and slim.
The tears may flow, unbidden and untold,
As plans unravel, and our days grow cold.


But though the tempest howls, and fears abound,
A steadfast hope in Christ can still be found.
For not in works, nor wisdom of our own,
But on His Word, our confidence is sown.
A sovereign God, whose purpose never fails,
Beyond the grasp of all these earthly ails.


He is our Rock, when shifting sands give way,
Our morning Star, when night obscures the day.
His written truth, a lamp unto my feet,
Makes bitter waters, wonderfully sweet.
Through Christ alone, by grace, we are free,
Purchased souls, for all eternity.


So let the groaning cosmos bring its pain,
And earthly trials sweep like winter rain.
Our anchor holds, within the veil of grace,
Secured by mercy, in that holy place.
For in His hands, our future is made sure,
A living hope, that ever will endure.


Though weakness claims us, and our spirits yearn,
To His unfailing promise, faith returns.
Till that blest day, when sorrows flee like night,
And we shall walk with Him, in perfect light.
Our heart looks up, through every burden heavy,
In God alone, our hope remains, most steady.