Since sin has come into the world, human beings, in bodies that are corruptible and mortal, get sick. How does one deal with it? Anne Bronte contracted tuberculosis in an era when that was not easily cured and often fatal. This is how she dealt with the disease that took her life. How much we can learn from her! God bless you.
Because of Calvary,
Romans 14:7-8 (ESV)7 For none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. 8 For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.
“A DREADFUL DARKNESS CLOSES IN
“A dreadful darkness closes in
On my bewildered mind;
O let me suffer and not sin,
Be tortured yet resigned.
Through all this world of whelming mist
Still let me look to Thee,
And give me courage to resist
The tempter till he flee.
Weary I am ― O give me strength
And leave me not to faint;
Say Thou wilt comfort me at length
And pity my complaint.
I’ve begged to serve Thee heart and soul,
To sacrifice to Thee
No niggard portion, but the whole
Of my identity.
I hoped amid the brave and strong,
My portioned task might lie;
To toil amid the busy throng,
With purpose pure and high.
But Thou hast fixed another part,
And Thou hast fixed it well,
I said so with my bleeding heart,
When first the anguish fell.
For Thou hast taken my delight,
And hope of life away,
And bid me watch the painful night
And wait the weary day.
The hope and delight were Thine;
I bless Thee for their loan;
I gave Thee while I deemed them mine
Too little thanks, I own.
Shall I with joy Thy blessing share
And not endure their loss?
Or hope the martyr’s crown to wear
And cast away the cross?
These weary hours will not be lost,
These days of passive misery,
These nights of darkness, anguish-tossed,
If I can I fix my heart on Thee.
Weak and weary though I lie,
Crushed with sorrow, worn with pain,
Still I may lift to heaven mine eye,
And strive and labor not in vain.
That inward strife against the sins
That ever wait on suffering;
To watch and strike where first begins
Each ill that would corruption bring,
That secret labor to sustain
With humble patience every blow,
To gather fortitude from pain,
And hope and holiness from woe,
Thus let me serve Thee from my heart,
Whatever be my written fate,
Whether thus early to depart,
Or yet a while to wait.
If Thou shouldst bring me back to life
More humble I should be,
More wise, more strengthened for the strife,
More apt to lean on Thee;
Should death be standing at the gate
Thus should I keep my vow;
But, Lord, whatever be my fate,
So let me serve Thee now!”