God may not give us an easy journey to the promised land, but He will give us a safe one.

Is it raining, little flower?
Be glad of rain;
Too much sun would wither thee;
'Twill shine again.
The clouds are very black, 'tis true;
But just behind them shines the blue;
Art thou weary, tender heart?
Be glad of pain;
In sorrow sweetest virtues grow;
As flower in rain.
God watches, and thou wilt have Sun,
When clouds their perfect work have done