While The Billy BoilsSearchShe saw The Helper standing nearWhen grief and care oppressed;“A Great, Big God,” Who wiped the tear,And soothed the aching breast.So, in the stress of sorrows piled,The gloom was lifted whenShe pointed up and sweetly smiled“A Great, Big God; be brave, my child,The birds will sing again.”
When dark misfortune, hovering o’er,Brought woes on every hand;And care was camping by the door,And drought was on the land;When lingering hope in rags was clad,Her faith shone brightest then—“A Great, Big God; so cheer up, Dad.Don’t mope about and take it bad,The birds will sing again.”
And always some soft silver rayAthwart the gloom would burstTo chase the heavy clouds away,When things were at their worst.Her “Great, Big God” would justifyThe trembling trust of men;For, when the cheerless night passed by,The sun would wink his golden eye,And birds would sing again.