She saw The Helper standing near
When 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 when
She 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 ray
Athwart the gloom would burst
To chase the heavy clouds away,
When things were at their worst.
Her “Great, Big God” would justify
The trembling trust of men;
For, when the cheerless night passed by,
The sun would wink his golden eye,
And birds would sing again.

[John O’Brien, an Australian poet, was actually Msgr. Patrick Joseph Hartigan, 1878-1952]

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