This room, this room, here in this room,
so silent and serene
I sit with babe upon my knee
and glance across the scene.
This sweet and humble living room
where little children play
Could this have been the place of pain
where passed so many days?
Where sleepless nights and painful days
and fears had me beseiged–
Where tender youth met loss and fear
and what it was to grieve,
Where alone I stood to battle,
where loss grew more and more
And shame and uselessness and strain
were all the arms I bore.
Oh yes, this was the place indeed
where crawling on my knees
On sleepless nights when life grew long
and lifted up my plea
“Have mercy, Lord, upon me,
tend to me with all your care
You who never will forsake–
please this heavy burden bear!”
And He was there each morning
with new mercies all for me–
My manna from My Father
never did I not receive.
My shepherd held me tenderly
as from my life was shorn
All my dreams and loves, envy and pride,
the blooms and all the thorns.
Yet with great possessions He led me out–
a new way for to find
Where bondages of guilt and fear
would less and less me bind.
And now I’ve crossed that angry sea
and stand upon the shore
In a better land where now I rest from
burdens that I bore.
Oh, this room if only now
Your quiet walls could speak
Of the prayers and tears and blessings
and the Shepherd’s tender reach
That found me here and not too small
for His riches to enjoy
This room, this room, this tomb of pain
And womb of all my joy.
Elizabeth Hiett– March 3rd, 2002