Obituary of Norma Rappaport

Joy Cometh In The Morning There must be thorns amid life’s flowers you know And you and I wherever we may go, Can find no bliss that is not mixed with pain – No path without a cloud. It would be vain For me to wish that not a single tear Might dim the gladness that you hold so dear. I am not wise enough to understand All that is best for you. The master’s hand Must sometimes touch life’s saddest chords to reach Its sweetest music and His child to teach To trust His love, ‘till the long, weeping night Is all forgotten in the morning light. Trust – trust Him, then and thus shall good or ill Your trustful soul with present blessing fill. Each loss is truest gain if, day by day, He fills the place of all he takes away. From “Gleams of Glory.”