I cannot say,Beneath the pressure of life's cares to-day,I joy in these;But I can sayThat I had rather walk this rugged way,IfHimit please.I cannot feelThat all is well when darkening clouds concealThe shining sun;But then I knowGod lives and loves, and say, since it is so,Thy will be done.I cannot speakIn happy tones; the tear-drops on my cheekShow I am sad:But I can speakOfgraceto suffer with submission meekUntil made glad.I do not seeWhy God should e'en permit some things to be,WhenHe is love;But I can see,Though often dimly, through the mysteryHis hand above!I do not knowWhere falls the seed that I have tried to sowWith greatest care;But Ishall knowThe meaning of each waiting hour belowSometime, somewhere!I do not lookUpon the present, nor in Nature's book,To read my fate;But Ido lookForpromised blessingsin God's holy Book;AndI can wait.I may not tryTo keep the hot tears back—but hush that sigh,"It might have been";And try to stillEach rising murmur, and toGod's sweet willRespond "Amen!"—Miss Ophelia G. Browning.
I cannot say,Beneath the pressure of life's cares to-day,I joy in these;But I can sayThat I had rather walk this rugged way,IfHimit please.
I cannot say,
Beneath the pressure of life's cares to-day,
I joy in these;
But I can say
That I had rather walk this rugged way,
IfHimit please.
I cannot feelThat all is well when darkening clouds concealThe shining sun;But then I knowGod lives and loves, and say, since it is so,Thy will be done.
I cannot feel
That all is well when darkening clouds conceal
The shining sun;
But then I know
God lives and loves, and say, since it is so,
Thy will be done.
I cannot speakIn happy tones; the tear-drops on my cheekShow I am sad:But I can speakOfgraceto suffer with submission meekUntil made glad.
I cannot speak
In happy tones; the tear-drops on my cheek
Show I am sad:
But I can speak
Ofgraceto suffer with submission meek
Until made glad.
I do not seeWhy God should e'en permit some things to be,WhenHe is love;But I can see,Though often dimly, through the mysteryHis hand above!
I do not see
Why God should e'en permit some things to be,
WhenHe is love;
But I can see,
Though often dimly, through the mystery
His hand above!
I do not knowWhere falls the seed that I have tried to sowWith greatest care;But Ishall knowThe meaning of each waiting hour belowSometime, somewhere!
I do not know
Where falls the seed that I have tried to sow
With greatest care;
But Ishall know
The meaning of each waiting hour below
Sometime, somewhere!
I do not lookUpon the present, nor in Nature's book,To read my fate;But Ido lookForpromised blessingsin God's holy Book;AndI can wait.
I do not look
Upon the present, nor in Nature's book,
To read my fate;
But Ido look
Forpromised blessingsin God's holy Book;
AndI can wait.
I may not tryTo keep the hot tears back—but hush that sigh,"It might have been";And try to stillEach rising murmur, and toGod's sweet willRespond "Amen!"
I may not try
To keep the hot tears back—but hush that sigh,
"It might have been";
And try to still
Each rising murmur, and toGod's sweet will
Respond "Amen!"
—Miss Ophelia G. Browning.
—Miss Ophelia G. Browning.
———
He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower,Alike they're needful for the flower;And joys and tears alike are sentTo give the soul fit nourishment.As comes to me or cloud or sun,Father! thy will, not mine, be done.Can loving children e'er reprove,With murmurs, whom they trust and love?Creator! I would ever beA trusting, loving child to thee:As comes to me or cloud or sun,Father! thy will, not mine, be done.O ne'er will I at life repine—Enough that thou hast made it mine;When falls the shadow cold of deathI yet will sing with parting breath,As comes to me or cloud or sun,Father! thy will, not mine, be done.—Sarah Flower Adams.
He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower,Alike they're needful for the flower;And joys and tears alike are sentTo give the soul fit nourishment.As comes to me or cloud or sun,Father! thy will, not mine, be done.
He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower,
Alike they're needful for the flower;
And joys and tears alike are sent
To give the soul fit nourishment.
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done.
Can loving children e'er reprove,With murmurs, whom they trust and love?Creator! I would ever beA trusting, loving child to thee:As comes to me or cloud or sun,Father! thy will, not mine, be done.
Can loving children e'er reprove,
With murmurs, whom they trust and love?
Creator! I would ever be
A trusting, loving child to thee:
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done.
O ne'er will I at life repine—Enough that thou hast made it mine;When falls the shadow cold of deathI yet will sing with parting breath,As comes to me or cloud or sun,Father! thy will, not mine, be done.
O ne'er will I at life repine—
Enough that thou hast made it mine;
When falls the shadow cold of death
I yet will sing with parting breath,
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done.
—Sarah Flower Adams.
—Sarah Flower Adams.
———
If I were told that I must die to-morrow,That the next sunWhich sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrowFor any one,All the fight fought, all the short journey through,What should I do?I do not think that I should shrink or falter,But just go onDoing my work, nor change nor seek to alterAught that is gone;But rise, and move, and love, and smile, and prayFor one more day.And lying down at night, for a last sleeping,Say in that earWhich harkens ever, "Lord, within thy keeping,How should I fear?And when to-morrow brings thee nearer still,Do thou thy will."I might not sleep for awe; but peaceful, tender,My soul would lieAll night long; and when the morning splendorFlashed o'er the sky,I think that I could smile—could calmly say,"It is his day."But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonderHeld out a scrollOn which my life was writ, and I with wonderBeheld unrollTo a long century's end its mystic clew—What should I do?What could I do, O blessed Guide and Master!Other than this,Still to go on as now, not slower, faster,Nor fear to missThe road, although so very long it be,While led by thee?Step by step, feeling thee close beside me,Although unseen;Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tempest hide theeOr heavens serene,Assured thy faithfulness cannot betray,Thy love decay.I may not know, my God; no hand revealethThy counsels wise;Along the path no deepening shadow stealeth;No voice repliesTo all my questioning thought the time to tell,And it is well.Let me keep on, abiding and unfearingThy will always;Through a long century's ripe fruitionOr a short day's;Thou canst not come too soon; and I can waitIf thou come late!—Susan Coolidge.
If I were told that I must die to-morrow,That the next sunWhich sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrowFor any one,All the fight fought, all the short journey through,What should I do?
If I were told that I must die to-morrow,
That the next sun
Which sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrow
For any one,
All the fight fought, all the short journey through,
What should I do?
I do not think that I should shrink or falter,But just go onDoing my work, nor change nor seek to alterAught that is gone;But rise, and move, and love, and smile, and prayFor one more day.
I do not think that I should shrink or falter,
But just go on
Doing my work, nor change nor seek to alter
Aught that is gone;
But rise, and move, and love, and smile, and pray
For one more day.
And lying down at night, for a last sleeping,Say in that earWhich harkens ever, "Lord, within thy keeping,How should I fear?And when to-morrow brings thee nearer still,Do thou thy will."
And lying down at night, for a last sleeping,
Say in that ear
Which harkens ever, "Lord, within thy keeping,
How should I fear?
And when to-morrow brings thee nearer still,
Do thou thy will."
I might not sleep for awe; but peaceful, tender,My soul would lieAll night long; and when the morning splendorFlashed o'er the sky,I think that I could smile—could calmly say,"It is his day."
I might not sleep for awe; but peaceful, tender,
My soul would lie
All night long; and when the morning splendor
Flashed o'er the sky,
I think that I could smile—could calmly say,
"It is his day."
But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonderHeld out a scrollOn which my life was writ, and I with wonderBeheld unrollTo a long century's end its mystic clew—What should I do?
But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonder
Held out a scroll
On which my life was writ, and I with wonder
Beheld unroll
To a long century's end its mystic clew—
What should I do?
What could I do, O blessed Guide and Master!Other than this,Still to go on as now, not slower, faster,Nor fear to missThe road, although so very long it be,While led by thee?
What could I do, O blessed Guide and Master!
Other than this,
Still to go on as now, not slower, faster,
Nor fear to miss
The road, although so very long it be,
While led by thee?
Step by step, feeling thee close beside me,Although unseen;Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tempest hide theeOr heavens serene,Assured thy faithfulness cannot betray,Thy love decay.
Step by step, feeling thee close beside me,
Although unseen;
Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tempest hide thee
Or heavens serene,
Assured thy faithfulness cannot betray,
Thy love decay.
I may not know, my God; no hand revealethThy counsels wise;Along the path no deepening shadow stealeth;No voice repliesTo all my questioning thought the time to tell,And it is well.
I may not know, my God; no hand revealeth
Thy counsels wise;
Along the path no deepening shadow stealeth;
No voice replies
To all my questioning thought the time to tell,
And it is well.
Let me keep on, abiding and unfearingThy will always;Through a long century's ripe fruitionOr a short day's;Thou canst not come too soon; and I can waitIf thou come late!
Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing
Thy will always;
Through a long century's ripe fruition
Or a short day's;
Thou canst not come too soon; and I can wait
If thou come late!
—Susan Coolidge.
—Susan Coolidge.
———
God's in his heaven,All's right with the world.—Robert Browning.
God's in his heaven,All's right with the world.
God's in his heaven,
All's right with the world.
—Robert Browning.
—Robert Browning.
———
What pleaseth God with joy receive;Though storm-winds rage and billows heaveAnd earth's foundations all be rent,Be comforted; to thee is sentWhat pleaseth God.God's will is best; to this resigned,How sweetly rests the weary mind!Seek, then, this blessed conformity,Desiring but to do and beWhat pleaseth God.God's thoughts are wisest; human schemesAre vain delusions, idle dreams;Our purposes are frail and weak;With earthly mind we seldom seekWhat pleaseth God.God is the holiest; and his waysAre full of kindness, truth, and grace;His blessing crowns our earnest prayer,While worldlings scorn, and little careWhat pleaseth God.God's is the truest heart; his loveNor time, nor life, nor death, can move;To those his mercies daily flow,Whose chief concern it is to knowWhat pleaseth God.Omnipotent he reigns on highAnd watcheth o'er thy destiny;While sea, and earth, and air produceFor daily pleasure, daily use,What pleaseth God.He loves his sheep, and when they strayHe leads them back to wisdom's way;Their faithless, wandering hearts to turn,Gently chastising, till they learnWhat pleaseth God.He knows our every need, and grantsA rich supply to all our wants;No good withholds from those whose mindIs bent with earnest zeal to findWhat pleaseth God.Then let the world, with stubborn will,Its earthborn pleasures follow still;Be this, my soul, thy constant aim,Thy riches, honor, glory, fame,What pleaseth God.Should care and grief thy portion be,To thy strong refuge ever flee;For all his creatures but perform,In peace and tumult, calm and storm,What pleaseth God.Faith lays her hand on God's rich grace,And hope gives patience for the race;These virtues in thy heart enshrined,Thy portion thou wilt surely find,What pleaseth God.In heaven thy glorious portion is;There is thy throne, thy crown, thy bliss;There shalt thou taste, and hear, and see,There shalt thou ever do and be,What pleaseth God.—Paul Gerhardt.
What pleaseth God with joy receive;Though storm-winds rage and billows heaveAnd earth's foundations all be rent,Be comforted; to thee is sentWhat pleaseth God.
What pleaseth God with joy receive;
Though storm-winds rage and billows heave
And earth's foundations all be rent,
Be comforted; to thee is sent
What pleaseth God.
God's will is best; to this resigned,How sweetly rests the weary mind!Seek, then, this blessed conformity,Desiring but to do and beWhat pleaseth God.
God's will is best; to this resigned,
How sweetly rests the weary mind!
Seek, then, this blessed conformity,
Desiring but to do and be
What pleaseth God.
God's thoughts are wisest; human schemesAre vain delusions, idle dreams;Our purposes are frail and weak;With earthly mind we seldom seekWhat pleaseth God.
God's thoughts are wisest; human schemes
Are vain delusions, idle dreams;
Our purposes are frail and weak;
With earthly mind we seldom seek
What pleaseth God.
God is the holiest; and his waysAre full of kindness, truth, and grace;His blessing crowns our earnest prayer,While worldlings scorn, and little careWhat pleaseth God.
God is the holiest; and his ways
Are full of kindness, truth, and grace;
His blessing crowns our earnest prayer,
While worldlings scorn, and little care
What pleaseth God.
God's is the truest heart; his loveNor time, nor life, nor death, can move;To those his mercies daily flow,Whose chief concern it is to knowWhat pleaseth God.
God's is the truest heart; his love
Nor time, nor life, nor death, can move;
To those his mercies daily flow,
Whose chief concern it is to know
What pleaseth God.
Omnipotent he reigns on highAnd watcheth o'er thy destiny;While sea, and earth, and air produceFor daily pleasure, daily use,What pleaseth God.
Omnipotent he reigns on high
And watcheth o'er thy destiny;
While sea, and earth, and air produce
For daily pleasure, daily use,
What pleaseth God.
He loves his sheep, and when they strayHe leads them back to wisdom's way;Their faithless, wandering hearts to turn,Gently chastising, till they learnWhat pleaseth God.
He loves his sheep, and when they stray
He leads them back to wisdom's way;
Their faithless, wandering hearts to turn,
Gently chastising, till they learn
What pleaseth God.
He knows our every need, and grantsA rich supply to all our wants;No good withholds from those whose mindIs bent with earnest zeal to findWhat pleaseth God.
He knows our every need, and grants
A rich supply to all our wants;
No good withholds from those whose mind
Is bent with earnest zeal to find
What pleaseth God.
Then let the world, with stubborn will,Its earthborn pleasures follow still;Be this, my soul, thy constant aim,Thy riches, honor, glory, fame,What pleaseth God.
Then let the world, with stubborn will,
Its earthborn pleasures follow still;
Be this, my soul, thy constant aim,
Thy riches, honor, glory, fame,
What pleaseth God.
Should care and grief thy portion be,To thy strong refuge ever flee;For all his creatures but perform,In peace and tumult, calm and storm,What pleaseth God.
Should care and grief thy portion be,
To thy strong refuge ever flee;
For all his creatures but perform,
In peace and tumult, calm and storm,
What pleaseth God.
Faith lays her hand on God's rich grace,And hope gives patience for the race;These virtues in thy heart enshrined,Thy portion thou wilt surely find,What pleaseth God.
Faith lays her hand on God's rich grace,
And hope gives patience for the race;
These virtues in thy heart enshrined,
Thy portion thou wilt surely find,
What pleaseth God.
In heaven thy glorious portion is;There is thy throne, thy crown, thy bliss;There shalt thou taste, and hear, and see,There shalt thou ever do and be,What pleaseth God.
In heaven thy glorious portion is;
There is thy throne, thy crown, thy bliss;
There shalt thou taste, and hear, and see,
There shalt thou ever do and be,
What pleaseth God.
—Paul Gerhardt.
—Paul Gerhardt.
———
O words of golden musicCaught from the harps on high,Which find a glorious anthemWhere we have found a sigh,And peal their grandest praisesJust where ours faint and die.O words of holy radianceShining on every tearTill it becomes a rainbow,Reflecting, bright and clear,Our Father's love and glorySo wonderful, so dear!O words of sparkling power,Of insight full and deep!Shall they not enter other heartsIn a grand and gladsome sweep,And lift the lives to songs of joyThat only droop and weep?And O, it is a splendor,A glow of majesty,A mystery of beauty,If we will only see;A very cloud of gloryEnfolding you and me.A splendor that is lightedAt one transcendent flame,The wondrous love, the perfect love,Our Father's sweetest name;For his very name and essenceAnd his will are all the same.—Frances Ridley Havergal.
O words of golden musicCaught from the harps on high,Which find a glorious anthemWhere we have found a sigh,And peal their grandest praisesJust where ours faint and die.
O words of golden music
Caught from the harps on high,
Which find a glorious anthem
Where we have found a sigh,
And peal their grandest praises
Just where ours faint and die.
O words of holy radianceShining on every tearTill it becomes a rainbow,Reflecting, bright and clear,Our Father's love and glorySo wonderful, so dear!
O words of holy radiance
Shining on every tear
Till it becomes a rainbow,
Reflecting, bright and clear,
Our Father's love and glory
So wonderful, so dear!
O words of sparkling power,Of insight full and deep!Shall they not enter other heartsIn a grand and gladsome sweep,And lift the lives to songs of joyThat only droop and weep?
O words of sparkling power,
Of insight full and deep!
Shall they not enter other hearts
In a grand and gladsome sweep,
And lift the lives to songs of joy
That only droop and weep?
And O, it is a splendor,A glow of majesty,A mystery of beauty,If we will only see;A very cloud of gloryEnfolding you and me.
And O, it is a splendor,
A glow of majesty,
A mystery of beauty,
If we will only see;
A very cloud of glory
Enfolding you and me.
A splendor that is lightedAt one transcendent flame,The wondrous love, the perfect love,Our Father's sweetest name;For his very name and essenceAnd his will are all the same.
A splendor that is lighted
At one transcendent flame,
The wondrous love, the perfect love,
Our Father's sweetest name;
For his very name and essence
And his will are all the same.
—Frances Ridley Havergal.
—Frances Ridley Havergal.
———
No chance has brought this ill to me;'Tis God's sweet will, so let it be;He seeth what I cannot see.There is a need-be for each pain,And he will make it one day plainThat earthly loss is heavenly gain.Like as a piece of tapestry,Viewed from the back, appears to beNaught but threads tangled hopelessly,But in the front a picture fairRewards the worker for his care,Proving his skill and patience rare.Thou art the workman, I the frame;Lord, for the glory of thy name,Perfect thine image on the same!
No chance has brought this ill to me;'Tis God's sweet will, so let it be;He seeth what I cannot see.
No chance has brought this ill to me;
'Tis God's sweet will, so let it be;
He seeth what I cannot see.
There is a need-be for each pain,And he will make it one day plainThat earthly loss is heavenly gain.
There is a need-be for each pain,
And he will make it one day plain
That earthly loss is heavenly gain.
Like as a piece of tapestry,Viewed from the back, appears to beNaught but threads tangled hopelessly,
Like as a piece of tapestry,
Viewed from the back, appears to be
Naught but threads tangled hopelessly,
But in the front a picture fairRewards the worker for his care,Proving his skill and patience rare.
But in the front a picture fair
Rewards the worker for his care,
Proving his skill and patience rare.
Thou art the workman, I the frame;Lord, for the glory of thy name,Perfect thine image on the same!
Thou art the workman, I the frame;
Lord, for the glory of thy name,
Perfect thine image on the same!
———
Whate'er God wills let that be done;His will is ever wisest;His grace will all thy hope outrunWho to that faith arisest.The gracious LordWill help afford;He chastens with forbearing;Who God believes,And to him cleaves,Shall not be left despairing.My God is my sure confidence,My light, and my existence;His counsel is beyond my sense,But stirs no weak resistance;His word declaresThe very hairsUpon my head are numbered;His mercy largeHolds me in chargeWith care that never slumbered.There comes a day when at his willThe pulse of nature ceases.I think upon it, and am still,Let come whate'er he pleases.To him I trustMy soul, my dust,When flesh and spirit sever;The Christ we singHas plucked the stingAway from death forever.—Albert of Brandenburg, 1586.
Whate'er God wills let that be done;His will is ever wisest;His grace will all thy hope outrunWho to that faith arisest.The gracious LordWill help afford;He chastens with forbearing;Who God believes,And to him cleaves,Shall not be left despairing.
Whate'er God wills let that be done;
His will is ever wisest;
His grace will all thy hope outrun
Who to that faith arisest.
The gracious Lord
Will help afford;
He chastens with forbearing;
Who God believes,
And to him cleaves,
Shall not be left despairing.
My God is my sure confidence,My light, and my existence;His counsel is beyond my sense,But stirs no weak resistance;His word declaresThe very hairsUpon my head are numbered;His mercy largeHolds me in chargeWith care that never slumbered.
My God is my sure confidence,
My light, and my existence;
His counsel is beyond my sense,
But stirs no weak resistance;
His word declares
The very hairs
Upon my head are numbered;
His mercy large
Holds me in charge
With care that never slumbered.
There comes a day when at his willThe pulse of nature ceases.I think upon it, and am still,Let come whate'er he pleases.To him I trustMy soul, my dust,When flesh and spirit sever;The Christ we singHas plucked the stingAway from death forever.
There comes a day when at his will
The pulse of nature ceases.
I think upon it, and am still,
Let come whate'er he pleases.
To him I trust
My soul, my dust,
When flesh and spirit sever;
The Christ we sing
Has plucked the sting
Away from death forever.
—Albert of Brandenburg, 1586.
—Albert of Brandenburg, 1586.
———
We see not, know not; all our wayIs night; with thee alone is day.From out the torrent's troubled drift,Above the storm our prayers we lift:Thy will be done!The flesh may fail, the heart may faint.But who are we to make complaintOr dare to plead, in times like these,The weakness of our love of ease?Thy will be done!We take, with solemn thankfulness,Our burden up, nor ask it less,And count it joy that even weMay suffer, serve, or wait for thee,Whose will be done!Though dim as yet in tint and line,We trace thy picture's wise design,And thank thee that our age suppliesIts dark relief of sacrifice.Thy will be done!And if, in our unworthiness,Thy sacrificial wine we press;If from thy ordeal's heated barsOur feet are seamed with crimson scars,Thy will be done!If, for the age to come, this hourOf trial hath vicarious power,And, blest by thee, our present painBe liberty's eternal gain,Thy will be done.Strike, thou the Master, we thy keys,The anthem of the destinies!The minor of thy loftier strain,Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain,Thy will be done!—John Greenleaf Whittier.
We see not, know not; all our wayIs night; with thee alone is day.From out the torrent's troubled drift,Above the storm our prayers we lift:Thy will be done!
We see not, know not; all our way
Is night; with thee alone is day.
From out the torrent's troubled drift,
Above the storm our prayers we lift:
Thy will be done!
The flesh may fail, the heart may faint.But who are we to make complaintOr dare to plead, in times like these,The weakness of our love of ease?Thy will be done!
The flesh may fail, the heart may faint.
But who are we to make complaint
Or dare to plead, in times like these,
The weakness of our love of ease?
Thy will be done!
We take, with solemn thankfulness,Our burden up, nor ask it less,And count it joy that even weMay suffer, serve, or wait for thee,Whose will be done!
We take, with solemn thankfulness,
Our burden up, nor ask it less,
And count it joy that even we
May suffer, serve, or wait for thee,
Whose will be done!
Though dim as yet in tint and line,We trace thy picture's wise design,And thank thee that our age suppliesIts dark relief of sacrifice.Thy will be done!
Though dim as yet in tint and line,
We trace thy picture's wise design,
And thank thee that our age supplies
Its dark relief of sacrifice.
Thy will be done!
And if, in our unworthiness,Thy sacrificial wine we press;If from thy ordeal's heated barsOur feet are seamed with crimson scars,Thy will be done!
And if, in our unworthiness,
Thy sacrificial wine we press;
If from thy ordeal's heated bars
Our feet are seamed with crimson scars,
Thy will be done!
If, for the age to come, this hourOf trial hath vicarious power,And, blest by thee, our present painBe liberty's eternal gain,Thy will be done.
If, for the age to come, this hour
Of trial hath vicarious power,
And, blest by thee, our present pain
Be liberty's eternal gain,
Thy will be done.
Strike, thou the Master, we thy keys,The anthem of the destinies!The minor of thy loftier strain,Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain,Thy will be done!
Strike, thou the Master, we thy keys,
The anthem of the destinies!
The minor of thy loftier strain,
Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain,
Thy will be done!
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
———
There is no sense, as I can see,In mortals such as you and meA-faulting nature's wise intentsAnd locking horns with Providence.
There is no sense, as I can see,In mortals such as you and meA-faulting nature's wise intentsAnd locking horns with Providence.
There is no sense, as I can see,
In mortals such as you and me
A-faulting nature's wise intents
And locking horns with Providence.
———
It is no use to grumble and complain;It's just as cheap and easy to rejoice;When God sorts out the weather and sends rain—Why, rain's my choice.—James Whitcomb Riley.
It is no use to grumble and complain;It's just as cheap and easy to rejoice;When God sorts out the weather and sends rain—Why, rain's my choice.
It is no use to grumble and complain;
It's just as cheap and easy to rejoice;
When God sorts out the weather and sends rain—
Why, rain's my choice.
—James Whitcomb Riley.
—James Whitcomb Riley.
———
Not in dumb resignationWe lift our hands on high;Not like the nerveless fatalist,Content to do and die.Our faith springs like the eagleWho soars to meet the sun,And cries, exulting, unto thee,"O Lord, thy will be done!"Thy will! It bids the weak be strong;It bids the strong be just;No lip to fawn, no hand to beg,No brow to seek the dust.Wherever man oppresses man,Beneath the liberal sun,O Lord, be there! Thine arm make bare!Thy righteous will be done!—John Hay.
Not in dumb resignationWe lift our hands on high;Not like the nerveless fatalist,Content to do and die.Our faith springs like the eagleWho soars to meet the sun,And cries, exulting, unto thee,"O Lord, thy will be done!"
Not in dumb resignation
We lift our hands on high;
Not like the nerveless fatalist,
Content to do and die.
Our faith springs like the eagle
Who soars to meet the sun,
And cries, exulting, unto thee,
"O Lord, thy will be done!"
Thy will! It bids the weak be strong;It bids the strong be just;No lip to fawn, no hand to beg,No brow to seek the dust.Wherever man oppresses man,Beneath the liberal sun,O Lord, be there! Thine arm make bare!Thy righteous will be done!
Thy will! It bids the weak be strong;
It bids the strong be just;
No lip to fawn, no hand to beg,
No brow to seek the dust.
Wherever man oppresses man,
Beneath the liberal sun,
O Lord, be there! Thine arm make bare!
Thy righteous will be done!
—John Hay.
—John Hay.
———
All goeth but God's will!The fairest garden flowerFades after its brief hourOf brightness. Still,This is but God's good will.All goeth but God's will!The brightest, dearest dayDoth swiftly pass away,And darkest nightSucceeds the vision bright.But still strong-hearted be,Yea, though the night be drear;How sad and long soe'erIts gloom may be,This darkness, too, shall flee.Weep not yon grave beside!Dear friend, he is not gone;God's angel soon this stoneShall roll aside.Yea, death shall not abide!Earth's anguish, too, shall go,O then be strong, my soul!When sorrows o'er thee rollBe still, and know'Tis God's will worketh so.Dear Lord and God, inclineThine ear unto my call!O grant me that in all,This will of mineMay still be one with thine!Teach me to answer still,Whate'er my lot may be,To all thou sendest me,Of good or ill;"All goeth as God will."—Alice Williams.
All goeth but God's will!The fairest garden flowerFades after its brief hourOf brightness. Still,This is but God's good will.
All goeth but God's will!
The fairest garden flower
Fades after its brief hour
Of brightness. Still,
This is but God's good will.
All goeth but God's will!The brightest, dearest dayDoth swiftly pass away,And darkest nightSucceeds the vision bright.
All goeth but God's will!
The brightest, dearest day
Doth swiftly pass away,
And darkest night
Succeeds the vision bright.
But still strong-hearted be,Yea, though the night be drear;How sad and long soe'erIts gloom may be,This darkness, too, shall flee.
But still strong-hearted be,
Yea, though the night be drear;
How sad and long soe'er
Its gloom may be,
This darkness, too, shall flee.
Weep not yon grave beside!Dear friend, he is not gone;God's angel soon this stoneShall roll aside.Yea, death shall not abide!
Weep not yon grave beside!
Dear friend, he is not gone;
God's angel soon this stone
Shall roll aside.
Yea, death shall not abide!
Earth's anguish, too, shall go,O then be strong, my soul!When sorrows o'er thee rollBe still, and know'Tis God's will worketh so.
Earth's anguish, too, shall go,
O then be strong, my soul!
When sorrows o'er thee roll
Be still, and know
'Tis God's will worketh so.
Dear Lord and God, inclineThine ear unto my call!O grant me that in all,This will of mineMay still be one with thine!
Dear Lord and God, incline
Thine ear unto my call!
O grant me that in all,
This will of mine
May still be one with thine!
Teach me to answer still,Whate'er my lot may be,To all thou sendest me,Of good or ill;"All goeth as God will."
Teach me to answer still,
Whate'er my lot may be,
To all thou sendest me,
Of good or ill;
"All goeth as God will."
—Alice Williams.
—Alice Williams.
———
Sweet is the solace of thy love,My heavenly Friend, to me,While through the hidden way of faithI journey home with thee,Learning by quiet thankfulnessAs a dear child to be.Though from the shadow of thy peaceMy feet would often stray,Thy mercy follows all my steps,And will not turn away;Yea, thou wilt comfort me at lastAs none beneath thee may.No other comforter I needIf thou, O Lord, be mine;Thy rod will bring my spirit low,Thy fire my heart refine,And cause me pain that none may feelBy other love than thine.Then in the secret of my soul,Though hosts my peace invade,Though through a waste and weary landMy lonely way be made,Thou, even thou, wilt comfort me;I need not be afraid.O there is nothing in the worldTo weigh against thy will;Even the dark times I dread the mostThy covenant fulfill;And when the pleasant morning dawnsI find thee with me still.Still in the solitary placeI would awhile abide.Till with the solace of thy loveMy soul is satisfied,And all my hopes of happinessStay calmly at thy side.On thy compassion I reposeIn weakness and distress;I will not ask for greater easeLest I should love thee less,It is a blessed thing for meTo need thy tenderness.—Anna Letitia Waring.
Sweet is the solace of thy love,My heavenly Friend, to me,While through the hidden way of faithI journey home with thee,Learning by quiet thankfulnessAs a dear child to be.
Sweet is the solace of thy love,
My heavenly Friend, to me,
While through the hidden way of faith
I journey home with thee,
Learning by quiet thankfulness
As a dear child to be.
Though from the shadow of thy peaceMy feet would often stray,Thy mercy follows all my steps,And will not turn away;Yea, thou wilt comfort me at lastAs none beneath thee may.
Though from the shadow of thy peace
My feet would often stray,
Thy mercy follows all my steps,
And will not turn away;
Yea, thou wilt comfort me at last
As none beneath thee may.
No other comforter I needIf thou, O Lord, be mine;Thy rod will bring my spirit low,Thy fire my heart refine,And cause me pain that none may feelBy other love than thine.
No other comforter I need
If thou, O Lord, be mine;
Thy rod will bring my spirit low,
Thy fire my heart refine,
And cause me pain that none may feel
By other love than thine.
Then in the secret of my soul,Though hosts my peace invade,Though through a waste and weary landMy lonely way be made,Thou, even thou, wilt comfort me;I need not be afraid.
Then in the secret of my soul,
Though hosts my peace invade,
Though through a waste and weary land
My lonely way be made,
Thou, even thou, wilt comfort me;
I need not be afraid.
O there is nothing in the worldTo weigh against thy will;Even the dark times I dread the mostThy covenant fulfill;And when the pleasant morning dawnsI find thee with me still.
O there is nothing in the world
To weigh against thy will;
Even the dark times I dread the most
Thy covenant fulfill;
And when the pleasant morning dawns
I find thee with me still.
Still in the solitary placeI would awhile abide.Till with the solace of thy loveMy soul is satisfied,And all my hopes of happinessStay calmly at thy side.
Still in the solitary place
I would awhile abide.
Till with the solace of thy love
My soul is satisfied,
And all my hopes of happiness
Stay calmly at thy side.
On thy compassion I reposeIn weakness and distress;I will not ask for greater easeLest I should love thee less,It is a blessed thing for meTo need thy tenderness.
On thy compassion I repose
In weakness and distress;
I will not ask for greater ease
Lest I should love thee less,
It is a blessed thing for me
To need thy tenderness.
—Anna Letitia Waring.
—Anna Letitia Waring.
———
There was of old a Moslem saintNamed Rabia. On her bed she layPale, sick, but uttered no complaint."Send for the holy men to pray."And two were sent. The first drew near:"The prayers of no man are sincereWho does not bow beneath the rod,And bear the chastening strokes of God."Whereto the second, more severe:"The prayers of no man are sincereWho does not in the rod rejoiceAnd make the strokes he bears his choice."Then she, who felt that in such painThe love of self did still remain,Answered, "No prayers can be sincereWhen they from whose wrung hearts they fallAre not as I am, lying here,Who long since have forgotten all.Dear Lord of love! There is no pain."So Rabia, and was well again.—Edmund Clarence Stedman.
There was of old a Moslem saintNamed Rabia. On her bed she layPale, sick, but uttered no complaint."Send for the holy men to pray."And two were sent. The first drew near:"The prayers of no man are sincereWho does not bow beneath the rod,And bear the chastening strokes of God."Whereto the second, more severe:"The prayers of no man are sincereWho does not in the rod rejoiceAnd make the strokes he bears his choice."Then she, who felt that in such painThe love of self did still remain,Answered, "No prayers can be sincereWhen they from whose wrung hearts they fallAre not as I am, lying here,Who long since have forgotten all.Dear Lord of love! There is no pain."So Rabia, and was well again.
There was of old a Moslem saint
Named Rabia. On her bed she lay
Pale, sick, but uttered no complaint.
"Send for the holy men to pray."
And two were sent. The first drew near:
"The prayers of no man are sincere
Who does not bow beneath the rod,
And bear the chastening strokes of God."
Whereto the second, more severe:
"The prayers of no man are sincere
Who does not in the rod rejoice
And make the strokes he bears his choice."
Then she, who felt that in such pain
The love of self did still remain,
Answered, "No prayers can be sincere
When they from whose wrung hearts they fall
Are not as I am, lying here,
Who long since have forgotten all.
Dear Lord of love! There is no pain."
So Rabia, and was well again.
—Edmund Clarence Stedman.
—Edmund Clarence Stedman.
———
Rabia, sick upon her bed,By two saints was visited:Holy Malik, Hassan wise,Men of mark in Moslem eyes.Hassan said: "Whose prayer is pureWill God's chastisementendure."Malik, from a deeper sense,Uttered his experience:"He who loves his Master's choiceWill in chastisementrejoice."Rabia saw some selfish willIn their maxims lingering still,And replied: "O men of grace!He who sees his Master's face"Will not in his prayer recallThat he is chastised at all."—Arabian, tr. by James Freeman Clarke, from the German of Tholuck.
Rabia, sick upon her bed,By two saints was visited:
Rabia, sick upon her bed,
By two saints was visited:
Holy Malik, Hassan wise,Men of mark in Moslem eyes.
Holy Malik, Hassan wise,
Men of mark in Moslem eyes.
Hassan said: "Whose prayer is pureWill God's chastisementendure."
Hassan said: "Whose prayer is pure
Will God's chastisementendure."
Malik, from a deeper sense,Uttered his experience:
Malik, from a deeper sense,
Uttered his experience:
"He who loves his Master's choiceWill in chastisementrejoice."
"He who loves his Master's choice
Will in chastisementrejoice."
Rabia saw some selfish willIn their maxims lingering still,
Rabia saw some selfish will
In their maxims lingering still,
And replied: "O men of grace!He who sees his Master's face
And replied: "O men of grace!
He who sees his Master's face
"Will not in his prayer recallThat he is chastised at all."
"Will not in his prayer recall
That he is chastised at all."
—Arabian, tr. by James Freeman Clarke, from the German of Tholuck.
—Arabian, tr. by James Freeman Clarke, from the German of Tholuck.
(Rabia was a very holy Arabian woman who lived in the second century of the Hegira, or the eighth century of our era.)
———
Round holy Rabia's suffering bedThe wise men gathered, gazing gravely."Daughter of God!" the youngest said,"Endure thy Father's chastening bravely;They who have steeped their souls in prayerCan any anguish calmly bear."She answered not, and turned aside,Though not reproachfully nor sadly."Daughter of God!" the eldest cried,"Sustain thy Father's chastening gladly;They who have learned to pray arightFrom pain's dark well draw up delight."Then spake she out: "Your words are fair;But, oh, the truth lies deeper still.I know not, when absorbed in prayer,Pleasure or pain, or good or ill.They who God's face can understandFeel not the workings of his hand."—Monckton Milnes.
Round holy Rabia's suffering bedThe wise men gathered, gazing gravely."Daughter of God!" the youngest said,"Endure thy Father's chastening bravely;They who have steeped their souls in prayerCan any anguish calmly bear."
Round holy Rabia's suffering bed
The wise men gathered, gazing gravely.
"Daughter of God!" the youngest said,
"Endure thy Father's chastening bravely;
They who have steeped their souls in prayer
Can any anguish calmly bear."
She answered not, and turned aside,Though not reproachfully nor sadly."Daughter of God!" the eldest cried,"Sustain thy Father's chastening gladly;They who have learned to pray arightFrom pain's dark well draw up delight."
She answered not, and turned aside,
Though not reproachfully nor sadly.
"Daughter of God!" the eldest cried,
"Sustain thy Father's chastening gladly;
They who have learned to pray aright
From pain's dark well draw up delight."
Then spake she out: "Your words are fair;But, oh, the truth lies deeper still.I know not, when absorbed in prayer,Pleasure or pain, or good or ill.They who God's face can understandFeel not the workings of his hand."
Then spake she out: "Your words are fair;
But, oh, the truth lies deeper still.
I know not, when absorbed in prayer,
Pleasure or pain, or good or ill.
They who God's face can understand
Feel not the workings of his hand."
—Monckton Milnes.
—Monckton Milnes.
———
I love thy will, O God!Thy blessèd, perfect will,In which this once rebellious heartLies satisfied and still.I love thy will, O God!It is my joy, my rest;It glorifies my common task,It makes each trial blest.I love thy will, O God!The sunshine or the rain;Some days are bright with praise, and someSweet with accepted pain.I love thy will, O God!O hear my earnest plea,That as thy will is done in heavenIt may be done in me!—Bessie Pegg MacLaughlin.
I love thy will, O God!Thy blessèd, perfect will,In which this once rebellious heartLies satisfied and still.
I love thy will, O God!
Thy blessèd, perfect will,
In which this once rebellious heart
Lies satisfied and still.
I love thy will, O God!It is my joy, my rest;It glorifies my common task,It makes each trial blest.
I love thy will, O God!
It is my joy, my rest;
It glorifies my common task,
It makes each trial blest.
I love thy will, O God!The sunshine or the rain;Some days are bright with praise, and someSweet with accepted pain.
I love thy will, O God!
The sunshine or the rain;
Some days are bright with praise, and some
Sweet with accepted pain.
I love thy will, O God!O hear my earnest plea,That as thy will is done in heavenIt may be done in me!
I love thy will, O God!
O hear my earnest plea,
That as thy will is done in heaven
It may be done in me!
—Bessie Pegg MacLaughlin.
—Bessie Pegg MacLaughlin.
———
Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small;Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.—Tr. by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small;Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.
Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small;
Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.
—Tr. by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
—Tr. by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
———
I pray, with meek hands on my breast,"Thy will be done, thy kingdom come,"But shouldst thou call my dear ones homeShould I still say, "'Tis best;Thy will be done"?I cannot tell. I probe my heartWith sharpest instruments of pain,And listen if the sweet refrainStill wells up through the smart—"Thy will be done!"I cannot tell. I yield the quest,Content if only day by dayMy God shall give me grace to say,"Father, thou knowest best;Thy will be done!"He gives no strength for coming ill,Until its advent. Then he rollsHis love in on his waiting souls,Sure of their sweet "Thy will,Thy will be done!""Give us this day our daily bread"—So prayed the Christ, and so will I;Father, my daily bread supply,Or, if I go unfed,"Thy will be done!"—Caroline Atherton Mason.
I pray, with meek hands on my breast,"Thy will be done, thy kingdom come,"But shouldst thou call my dear ones homeShould I still say, "'Tis best;Thy will be done"?
I pray, with meek hands on my breast,
"Thy will be done, thy kingdom come,"
But shouldst thou call my dear ones home
Should I still say, "'Tis best;
Thy will be done"?
I cannot tell. I probe my heartWith sharpest instruments of pain,And listen if the sweet refrainStill wells up through the smart—"Thy will be done!"
I cannot tell. I probe my heart
With sharpest instruments of pain,
And listen if the sweet refrain
Still wells up through the smart—
"Thy will be done!"
I cannot tell. I yield the quest,Content if only day by dayMy God shall give me grace to say,"Father, thou knowest best;Thy will be done!"
I cannot tell. I yield the quest,
Content if only day by day
My God shall give me grace to say,
"Father, thou knowest best;
Thy will be done!"
He gives no strength for coming ill,Until its advent. Then he rollsHis love in on his waiting souls,Sure of their sweet "Thy will,Thy will be done!"
He gives no strength for coming ill,
Until its advent. Then he rolls
His love in on his waiting souls,
Sure of their sweet "Thy will,
Thy will be done!"
"Give us this day our daily bread"—So prayed the Christ, and so will I;Father, my daily bread supply,Or, if I go unfed,"Thy will be done!"
"Give us this day our daily bread"—
So prayed the Christ, and so will I;
Father, my daily bread supply,
Or, if I go unfed,
"Thy will be done!"
—Caroline Atherton Mason.
—Caroline Atherton Mason.
———
When thou turnest away from illChrist is this side of thy hill.When thou turnest towards goodChrist is walking in thy wood.When thy heart says, "Father, pardon!"Then the Lord is in thy garden.When stern duty wakes to watchThen his hand is on the latch.But when hope thy song doth rouseThen the Lord is in the house.When to love is all thy witChrist doth at thy table sit.When God's will is thy heart's poleThen is Christ thy very soul.—George Macdonald.
When thou turnest away from illChrist is this side of thy hill.
When thou turnest away from ill
Christ is this side of thy hill.
When thou turnest towards goodChrist is walking in thy wood.
When thou turnest towards good
Christ is walking in thy wood.
When thy heart says, "Father, pardon!"Then the Lord is in thy garden.
When thy heart says, "Father, pardon!"
Then the Lord is in thy garden.
When stern duty wakes to watchThen his hand is on the latch.
When stern duty wakes to watch
Then his hand is on the latch.
But when hope thy song doth rouseThen the Lord is in the house.
But when hope thy song doth rouse
Then the Lord is in the house.
When to love is all thy witChrist doth at thy table sit.
When to love is all thy wit
Christ doth at thy table sit.
When God's will is thy heart's poleThen is Christ thy very soul.
When God's will is thy heart's pole
Then is Christ thy very soul.
—George Macdonald.
—George Macdonald.
———
But that thou art my wisdom, Lord,And both mine eyes are thine.My mind would be extremely stirredFor missing my design.Were it not better to bestowSome place and power on me?Then should thy praises with me grow,And share in my degree.But when I thus dispute and grieveI do resume my sight;And, pilfering what I once did give,Disseize thee of thy right.How know I, if thou shouldst me raise.That I should then raise thee?Perhaps great places and thy praiseDo not so well agree.Wherefore unto my gift I stand;I will no more advise;Only do thou lend me a hand,Since thou hast both mine eyes.—George Herbert.
But that thou art my wisdom, Lord,And both mine eyes are thine.My mind would be extremely stirredFor missing my design.
But that thou art my wisdom, Lord,
And both mine eyes are thine.
My mind would be extremely stirred
For missing my design.
Were it not better to bestowSome place and power on me?Then should thy praises with me grow,And share in my degree.
Were it not better to bestow
Some place and power on me?
Then should thy praises with me grow,
And share in my degree.
But when I thus dispute and grieveI do resume my sight;And, pilfering what I once did give,Disseize thee of thy right.
But when I thus dispute and grieve
I do resume my sight;
And, pilfering what I once did give,
Disseize thee of thy right.
How know I, if thou shouldst me raise.That I should then raise thee?Perhaps great places and thy praiseDo not so well agree.
How know I, if thou shouldst me raise.
That I should then raise thee?
Perhaps great places and thy praise
Do not so well agree.
Wherefore unto my gift I stand;I will no more advise;Only do thou lend me a hand,Since thou hast both mine eyes.
Wherefore unto my gift I stand;
I will no more advise;
Only do thou lend me a hand,
Since thou hast both mine eyes.
—George Herbert.
—George Herbert.
———
Beware, exulting youth, beware,When life's young pleasures woo,That ere you yield yon shrine your heart,And keep your conscience true!For sake of silver spent to-dayWhy pledge to-morrow's gold?Or in hot blood implant remorse,To grow when blood is cold?If wrong you do, if false you play,In summer among the flowers,You must atone, you must repay,In winter among the showers.To turn the balances of heavenSurpasses mortal power;For every white there is a black,For every sweet a sour.For every up there is a down,For every folly shame,And retribution follows guiltAs burning follows flame.If wrong you do, if false you play,In summer among the flowers,You must atone, you must repayIn winter among the showers.—George Macdonald.
Beware, exulting youth, beware,When life's young pleasures woo,That ere you yield yon shrine your heart,And keep your conscience true!For sake of silver spent to-dayWhy pledge to-morrow's gold?Or in hot blood implant remorse,To grow when blood is cold?If wrong you do, if false you play,In summer among the flowers,You must atone, you must repay,In winter among the showers.
Beware, exulting youth, beware,
When life's young pleasures woo,
That ere you yield yon shrine your heart,
And keep your conscience true!
For sake of silver spent to-day
Why pledge to-morrow's gold?
Or in hot blood implant remorse,
To grow when blood is cold?
If wrong you do, if false you play,
In summer among the flowers,
You must atone, you must repay,
In winter among the showers.
To turn the balances of heavenSurpasses mortal power;For every white there is a black,For every sweet a sour.For every up there is a down,For every folly shame,And retribution follows guiltAs burning follows flame.If wrong you do, if false you play,In summer among the flowers,You must atone, you must repayIn winter among the showers.
To turn the balances of heaven
Surpasses mortal power;
For every white there is a black,
For every sweet a sour.
For every up there is a down,
For every folly shame,
And retribution follows guilt
As burning follows flame.
If wrong you do, if false you play,
In summer among the flowers,
You must atone, you must repay
In winter among the showers.
—George Macdonald.
—George Macdonald.
———
I love thy skies, thy sunny mists,Thy fields, thy mountains hoar,Thy wind that bloweth where it lists;Thy will, I love it more.I love thy hidden truth to seekAll round, in sea, on shore;The arts whereby like gods we speak;Thy will to me is more.I love thy men and women, Lord,The children round thy door,Calm thoughts that inward strength afford;Thy will, O Lord, is more.But when thy will my life shall hold,Thine to the very core,The world which that same will did moldI shall love ten times more.—George Macdonald.
I love thy skies, thy sunny mists,Thy fields, thy mountains hoar,Thy wind that bloweth where it lists;Thy will, I love it more.
I love thy skies, thy sunny mists,
Thy fields, thy mountains hoar,
Thy wind that bloweth where it lists;
Thy will, I love it more.
I love thy hidden truth to seekAll round, in sea, on shore;The arts whereby like gods we speak;Thy will to me is more.
I love thy hidden truth to seek
All round, in sea, on shore;
The arts whereby like gods we speak;
Thy will to me is more.
I love thy men and women, Lord,The children round thy door,Calm thoughts that inward strength afford;Thy will, O Lord, is more.
I love thy men and women, Lord,
The children round thy door,
Calm thoughts that inward strength afford;
Thy will, O Lord, is more.
But when thy will my life shall hold,Thine to the very core,The world which that same will did moldI shall love ten times more.
But when thy will my life shall hold,
Thine to the very core,
The world which that same will did mold
I shall love ten times more.
—George Macdonald.
—George Macdonald.
———
No child of man may perish ere his time arrives;A thousand arrows pierce him and he still survives;But when the moment fixed in heaven's eternal willComes round, a single blade of yielding grass may kill.—From the Mahabharata, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.
No child of man may perish ere his time arrives;A thousand arrows pierce him and he still survives;But when the moment fixed in heaven's eternal willComes round, a single blade of yielding grass may kill.
No child of man may perish ere his time arrives;
A thousand arrows pierce him and he still survives;
But when the moment fixed in heaven's eternal will
Comes round, a single blade of yielding grass may kill.
—From the Mahabharata, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.
—From the Mahabharata, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.
———
God gives to man the power to strike or miss you;It is not thy foe who did the thing.The arrow from the bow may seem to issue,But we know an archer drew the string.—Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.
God gives to man the power to strike or miss you;It is not thy foe who did the thing.The arrow from the bow may seem to issue,But we know an archer drew the string.
God gives to man the power to strike or miss you;
It is not thy foe who did the thing.
The arrow from the bow may seem to issue,
But we know an archer drew the string.
—Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.
—Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.
———
On two days it steads not to run from thy grave:The appointed and the unappointed day;On the first neither balm nor physician can save,Nor thee on the second the universe slay.—Ralph Waldo Emerson.
On two days it steads not to run from thy grave:The appointed and the unappointed day;On the first neither balm nor physician can save,Nor thee on the second the universe slay.
On two days it steads not to run from thy grave:
The appointed and the unappointed day;
On the first neither balm nor physician can save,
Nor thee on the second the universe slay.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson.
———
I do not know thy final will,It is too good for me to know.Thou willest that I mercy show,That I take heed and do no ill,That I the needy warm and fill,Nor stones at any sinner throw;But I know not thy final will,It is too good for me to know.I know thy love unspeakable—For love's sake able to send woe!To find thine own thou lost didst go,And wouldst for men thy blood yet spill!How should I know thy final will,Godwise too good for me to know!—George Macdonald.
I do not know thy final will,It is too good for me to know.Thou willest that I mercy show,That I take heed and do no ill,That I the needy warm and fill,Nor stones at any sinner throw;But I know not thy final will,It is too good for me to know.
I do not know thy final will,
It is too good for me to know.
Thou willest that I mercy show,
That I take heed and do no ill,
That I the needy warm and fill,
Nor stones at any sinner throw;
But I know not thy final will,
It is too good for me to know.
I know thy love unspeakable—For love's sake able to send woe!To find thine own thou lost didst go,And wouldst for men thy blood yet spill!How should I know thy final will,Godwise too good for me to know!
I know thy love unspeakable—
For love's sake able to send woe!
To find thine own thou lost didst go,
And wouldst for men thy blood yet spill!
How should I know thy final will,
Godwise too good for me to know!
—George Macdonald.
—George Macdonald.
———
One prayer I have—all prayers in one—When I am wholly thine:Thy will, my God, thy will be done,And let that will be mine;All-wise, almighty, and all-good,In thee I firmly trust,Thy ways, unknown or understood,Are merciful and just.
One prayer I have—all prayers in one—When I am wholly thine:Thy will, my God, thy will be done,And let that will be mine;All-wise, almighty, and all-good,In thee I firmly trust,Thy ways, unknown or understood,Are merciful and just.
One prayer I have—all prayers in one—
When I am wholly thine:
Thy will, my God, thy will be done,
And let that will be mine;
All-wise, almighty, and all-good,
In thee I firmly trust,
Thy ways, unknown or understood,
Are merciful and just.
———
Fear him, ye saints, and you will thenHave nothing else to fear;Make you his service your delight,He'll make your wants his care.
Fear him, ye saints, and you will thenHave nothing else to fear;Make you his service your delight,He'll make your wants his care.
Fear him, ye saints, and you will then
Have nothing else to fear;
Make you his service your delight,
He'll make your wants his care.
———
The best will is our Father's will,And we may rest there calm and still;O make it hour by hour thine own,And wish for naught but that aloneWhich pleases God.—Paul Gerhardt.
The best will is our Father's will,And we may rest there calm and still;O make it hour by hour thine own,And wish for naught but that aloneWhich pleases God.
The best will is our Father's will,
And we may rest there calm and still;
O make it hour by hour thine own,
And wish for naught but that alone
Which pleases God.
—Paul Gerhardt.
—Paul Gerhardt.
———
It is Lucifer,The son of mystery;And since God suffers him to beHe, too, is God's minister,And labors for some goodBy us not understood!—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
It is Lucifer,The son of mystery;And since God suffers him to beHe, too, is God's minister,And labors for some goodBy us not understood!
It is Lucifer,
The son of mystery;
And since God suffers him to be
He, too, is God's minister,
And labors for some good
By us not understood!
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
———
Rabbi Jehosha had the skillTo know that heaven is in God's will.—James Russell Lowell.
Rabbi Jehosha had the skillTo know that heaven is in God's will.
Rabbi Jehosha had the skill
To know that heaven is in God's will.
—James Russell Lowell.
—James Russell Lowell.
In the secret of his presenceI am kept from strife of tongues;His pavilion is around me,And within are ceaseless songs!Stormy winds, his word fulfilling,Beat without, but cannot harm,For the Master's voice is stillingStorm and tempest to a calm.In the secret of his presenceAll the darkness disappears;For a sun that knows no setting,Throws a rainbow on my tears.So the day grows ever lighter,Broadening to the perfect noon;So the day grows ever brighter,Heaven is coming, near and soon.In the secret of his presenceNever more can foes alarm;In the shadow of the Highest,I can meet them with a psalm;For the strong pavilion hides me,Turns their fiery darts aside,And I know, whate'er betides me,I shall live because he died!In the secret of his presenceIs a sweet, unbroken rest;Pleasures, joys, in glorious fullness,Making earth like Eden blest;So my peace grows deep and deeper,Widening as it nears the sea,For my Saviour is my keeper,Keeping mine and keeping me!—Henry Burton.
In the secret of his presenceI am kept from strife of tongues;His pavilion is around me,And within are ceaseless songs!Stormy winds, his word fulfilling,Beat without, but cannot harm,For the Master's voice is stillingStorm and tempest to a calm.
In the secret of his presence
I am kept from strife of tongues;
His pavilion is around me,
And within are ceaseless songs!
Stormy winds, his word fulfilling,
Beat without, but cannot harm,
For the Master's voice is stilling
Storm and tempest to a calm.
In the secret of his presenceAll the darkness disappears;For a sun that knows no setting,Throws a rainbow on my tears.So the day grows ever lighter,Broadening to the perfect noon;So the day grows ever brighter,Heaven is coming, near and soon.
In the secret of his presence
All the darkness disappears;
For a sun that knows no setting,
Throws a rainbow on my tears.
So the day grows ever lighter,
Broadening to the perfect noon;
So the day grows ever brighter,
Heaven is coming, near and soon.
In the secret of his presenceNever more can foes alarm;In the shadow of the Highest,I can meet them with a psalm;For the strong pavilion hides me,Turns their fiery darts aside,And I know, whate'er betides me,I shall live because he died!
In the secret of his presence
Never more can foes alarm;
In the shadow of the Highest,
I can meet them with a psalm;
For the strong pavilion hides me,
Turns their fiery darts aside,
And I know, whate'er betides me,
I shall live because he died!
In the secret of his presenceIs a sweet, unbroken rest;Pleasures, joys, in glorious fullness,Making earth like Eden blest;So my peace grows deep and deeper,Widening as it nears the sea,For my Saviour is my keeper,Keeping mine and keeping me!
In the secret of his presence
Is a sweet, unbroken rest;
Pleasures, joys, in glorious fullness,
Making earth like Eden blest;
So my peace grows deep and deeper,
Widening as it nears the sea,
For my Saviour is my keeper,
Keeping mine and keeping me!
—Henry Burton.
—Henry Burton.
———
Eyeservice let me giveThe while I live;In shadow or in light,By day or night,With all my heart and skill—Eyeservice still!Yes, for the eyes I'll serve—Nor faint nor swerve—Are not the eyes of man,That lightly scan,But God's, that pierce and seeThe whole of me!Beneath the farthest skies,Where morning flies,In heaven or in hell,If I should dwell,In dark or daylight fair,The Eyes are there!No trembling fugitive,Boldly I liveIf, as in that pure sight,I live aright,Yielding with hand and willEyeservice still!—Amos R. Wells.
Eyeservice let me giveThe while I live;In shadow or in light,By day or night,With all my heart and skill—Eyeservice still!
Eyeservice let me give
The while I live;
In shadow or in light,
By day or night,
With all my heart and skill—
Eyeservice still!
Yes, for the eyes I'll serve—Nor faint nor swerve—Are not the eyes of man,That lightly scan,But God's, that pierce and seeThe whole of me!
Yes, for the eyes I'll serve—
Nor faint nor swerve—
Are not the eyes of man,
That lightly scan,
But God's, that pierce and see
The whole of me!
Beneath the farthest skies,Where morning flies,In heaven or in hell,If I should dwell,In dark or daylight fair,The Eyes are there!
Beneath the farthest skies,
Where morning flies,
In heaven or in hell,
If I should dwell,
In dark or daylight fair,
The Eyes are there!
No trembling fugitive,Boldly I liveIf, as in that pure sight,I live aright,Yielding with hand and willEyeservice still!
No trembling fugitive,
Boldly I live
If, as in that pure sight,
I live aright,
Yielding with hand and will
Eyeservice still!
—Amos R. Wells.
—Amos R. Wells.
———
Lord of all being, throned afar,Thy glory flames from sun and star;Center and soul of every sphere,Yet to each loving heart how near!Sun of our life, thy quickening raySheds on our path the glow of day;Star of our hope, thy softened lightCheers the long watches of the night.Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn;Our noontide is thy gracious dawn;Our rainbow arch thy mercy's sign;All, save the clouds of sin, are thine!Lord of all life, below, above,Whose light is truth, whose warmth is love,Before thy ever-blazing throneWe ask no luster of our own.Grant us thy truth to make us free,And kindling hearts that burn for thee,Till all thy living altars claimOne holy light, one heavenly flame.—Oliver Wendell Holmes.
Lord of all being, throned afar,Thy glory flames from sun and star;Center and soul of every sphere,Yet to each loving heart how near!
Lord of all being, throned afar,
Thy glory flames from sun and star;
Center and soul of every sphere,
Yet to each loving heart how near!
Sun of our life, thy quickening raySheds on our path the glow of day;Star of our hope, thy softened lightCheers the long watches of the night.
Sun of our life, thy quickening ray
Sheds on our path the glow of day;
Star of our hope, thy softened light
Cheers the long watches of the night.
Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn;Our noontide is thy gracious dawn;Our rainbow arch thy mercy's sign;All, save the clouds of sin, are thine!
Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn;
Our noontide is thy gracious dawn;
Our rainbow arch thy mercy's sign;
All, save the clouds of sin, are thine!
Lord of all life, below, above,Whose light is truth, whose warmth is love,Before thy ever-blazing throneWe ask no luster of our own.
Lord of all life, below, above,
Whose light is truth, whose warmth is love,
Before thy ever-blazing throne
We ask no luster of our own.
Grant us thy truth to make us free,And kindling hearts that burn for thee,Till all thy living altars claimOne holy light, one heavenly flame.
Grant us thy truth to make us free,
And kindling hearts that burn for thee,
Till all thy living altars claim
One holy light, one heavenly flame.
—Oliver Wendell Holmes.
—Oliver Wendell Holmes.
———