By Amy Carmichael
O wind of God, blow through the trees;
O birds of God, come sing your song;
For now I know the joy that frees,
The joy that makes the weakest strong.
The vapors march in shining crowds,
High in the trackless roads of air;
I look, and lo, unto the clouds,
His faithfulness is even there!
Pass foolish fears; the fresh winds blow;
O birds of God, come sing with me.
My God is faithful this I know;
My Father, I have all in Thee.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
The Iron Clad Beetle
Mark's mother found this beetle ,at her house, in the dog food dish. She put him in a jar and brought him to us. Well, the poor little guy looked as though he were dead. There were a couple of times that I thought I saw him moving, but everytime I went to check- there he was laying on his back-- dead. We were planning to add him to our dead insect collection, but at last we found that the little guy was playing a trick on us. He was actually still alive, but anytime we came near he played dead. We were so impressed with his trick that we set him free in our flower bed.