GOD'S WILL

Thou knowest, Lord, the weariness and sorrowOf the sad heart that comes to thee for rest.Cares of to-day and burdens for to-morrow,Blessings implored, and sins to be confest,I come before thee, at thy gracious word,And lay them at thy feet.Thou knowest, Lord!Thou knowest all the past—how long and blindlyOn the dark mountains the lost wanderer strayed,How the good Shepherd followed, and how kindlyHe bore it home upon his shoulders laid,And healed the bleeding wounds, and soothed the pain,And brought back life, and hope, and strength again.Thou knowest all the present—each temptation,Each toilsome duty, each foreboding fear;All to myself assigned of tribulation,Or to belovèd ones than self more dear!All pensive memories, as I journey on,Longings for sunshine and for music gone!Thou knowest all the future—gleams of gladnessBy stormy clouds too quickly overcast—Hours of sweet fellowship and parting sadness,And the dark river to be crossed at last:Oh, what could confidence and hope affordTo tread this path, but this—Thou knowest, Lord!Thou knowest not alone as God—all-knowing—Asmanour mortal weakness thou hast provedOn earth; with purest sympathies o'erflowing,O Saviour, thou hast wept, and thou hast loved.And love and sorrow still to thee may comeAnd find a hiding-place, a rest, a home.Therefore I come, thy gentle call obeying,And lay my sins and sorrows at thy feet;On everlasting strength my weakness staying,Clothed in thy robe of righteousness complete.Then rising, and refreshed, I leave thy throne,And follow on to know as I am known!

Thou knowest, Lord, the weariness and sorrow

Of the sad heart that comes to thee for rest.

Cares of to-day and burdens for to-morrow,

Blessings implored, and sins to be confest,

I come before thee, at thy gracious word,

And lay them at thy feet.Thou knowest, Lord!

Thou knowest all the past—how long and blindlyOn the dark mountains the lost wanderer strayed,How the good Shepherd followed, and how kindlyHe bore it home upon his shoulders laid,And healed the bleeding wounds, and soothed the pain,And brought back life, and hope, and strength again.

Thou knowest all the past—how long and blindly

On the dark mountains the lost wanderer strayed,

How the good Shepherd followed, and how kindly

He bore it home upon his shoulders laid,

And healed the bleeding wounds, and soothed the pain,

And brought back life, and hope, and strength again.

Thou knowest all the present—each temptation,Each toilsome duty, each foreboding fear;All to myself assigned of tribulation,Or to belovèd ones than self more dear!All pensive memories, as I journey on,Longings for sunshine and for music gone!

Thou knowest all the present—each temptation,

Each toilsome duty, each foreboding fear;

All to myself assigned of tribulation,

Or to belovèd ones than self more dear!

All pensive memories, as I journey on,

Longings for sunshine and for music gone!

Thou knowest all the future—gleams of gladnessBy stormy clouds too quickly overcast—Hours of sweet fellowship and parting sadness,And the dark river to be crossed at last:Oh, what could confidence and hope affordTo tread this path, but this—Thou knowest, Lord!

Thou knowest all the future—gleams of gladness

By stormy clouds too quickly overcast—

Hours of sweet fellowship and parting sadness,

And the dark river to be crossed at last:

Oh, what could confidence and hope afford

To tread this path, but this—Thou knowest, Lord!

Thou knowest not alone as God—all-knowing—Asmanour mortal weakness thou hast provedOn earth; with purest sympathies o'erflowing,O Saviour, thou hast wept, and thou hast loved.And love and sorrow still to thee may comeAnd find a hiding-place, a rest, a home.

Thou knowest not alone as God—all-knowing—

Asmanour mortal weakness thou hast proved

On earth; with purest sympathies o'erflowing,

O Saviour, thou hast wept, and thou hast loved.

And love and sorrow still to thee may come

And find a hiding-place, a rest, a home.

Therefore I come, thy gentle call obeying,And lay my sins and sorrows at thy feet;On everlasting strength my weakness staying,Clothed in thy robe of righteousness complete.Then rising, and refreshed, I leave thy throne,And follow on to know as I am known!

Therefore I come, thy gentle call obeying,

And lay my sins and sorrows at thy feet;

On everlasting strength my weakness staying,

Clothed in thy robe of righteousness complete.

Then rising, and refreshed, I leave thy throne,

And follow on to know as I am known!

———

Men lose their ships, the eager thingsTo try their luck at sea,But none can tell, by note or count,How many there may be.One turneth east, another south—They never come again,And then we know they must have sunk,But neither how nor when.God sends his happy birds abroad—"They're less than ships," say we;No moment passes but he knowsHow many there should be.One buildeth high, another low,With just a bird's light care—If only one, perchance, doth fall,God knoweth when and where.

Men lose their ships, the eager thingsTo try their luck at sea,But none can tell, by note or count,How many there may be.

Men lose their ships, the eager things

To try their luck at sea,

But none can tell, by note or count,

How many there may be.

One turneth east, another south—They never come again,And then we know they must have sunk,But neither how nor when.

One turneth east, another south—

They never come again,

And then we know they must have sunk,

But neither how nor when.

God sends his happy birds abroad—"They're less than ships," say we;No moment passes but he knowsHow many there should be.

God sends his happy birds abroad—

"They're less than ships," say we;

No moment passes but he knows

How many there should be.

One buildeth high, another low,With just a bird's light care—If only one, perchance, doth fall,God knoweth when and where.

One buildeth high, another low,

With just a bird's light care—

If only one, perchance, doth fall,

God knoweth when and where.

———

If I could only surely knowThat all these things that tire me soWere noticed by my Lord.The pang that cuts me like a knife,The lesser pains of daily life,The noise, the weariness, the strife,What peace it would afford!I wonder if he really sharesIn all my little human cares,This mighty King of kings.If he who guides each blazing starThrough realms of boundless space afarWithout confusion, sound or jar,Stoops to these petty things.It seems to me, if sure of this,Blent with each ill would come such blissThat I might covet pain,And deem whatever brought to meThe loving thought of Deity,And sense of Christ's sweet sympathy,No loss, but richest gain.Dear Lord, my heart hath not a doubtThat thou dost compass me aboutWith sympathy divine.The love for me once crucifiedIs not a love to leave my side,But waiteth ever to divideEach smallest care of mine.

If I could only surely know

That all these things that tire me so

Were noticed by my Lord.

The pang that cuts me like a knife,

The lesser pains of daily life,

The noise, the weariness, the strife,

What peace it would afford!

I wonder if he really sharesIn all my little human cares,This mighty King of kings.If he who guides each blazing starThrough realms of boundless space afarWithout confusion, sound or jar,Stoops to these petty things.

I wonder if he really shares

In all my little human cares,

This mighty King of kings.

If he who guides each blazing star

Through realms of boundless space afar

Without confusion, sound or jar,

Stoops to these petty things.

It seems to me, if sure of this,Blent with each ill would come such blissThat I might covet pain,And deem whatever brought to meThe loving thought of Deity,And sense of Christ's sweet sympathy,No loss, but richest gain.

It seems to me, if sure of this,

Blent with each ill would come such bliss

That I might covet pain,

And deem whatever brought to me

The loving thought of Deity,

And sense of Christ's sweet sympathy,

No loss, but richest gain.

Dear Lord, my heart hath not a doubtThat thou dost compass me aboutWith sympathy divine.The love for me once crucifiedIs not a love to leave my side,But waiteth ever to divideEach smallest care of mine.

Dear Lord, my heart hath not a doubt

That thou dost compass me about

With sympathy divine.

The love for me once crucified

Is not a love to leave my side,

But waiteth ever to divide

Each smallest care of mine.

———

Never a trial that He is not there;Never a burden that He doth not bear;Never a sorrow that He doth not share.Moment by moment I'm under his care.Never a heartache, and never a groan,Never a tear-drop, and never a moan,Never a danger but there, on the throne,Moment by moment, He thinks of his own.Never a weakness that He doth not feel;Never a sickness that He cannot heal.Moment by moment, in woe or in weal,Jesus, my Saviour, abides with me still.—Daniel W. Whittle.

Never a trial that He is not there;Never a burden that He doth not bear;Never a sorrow that He doth not share.Moment by moment I'm under his care.

Never a trial that He is not there;

Never a burden that He doth not bear;

Never a sorrow that He doth not share.

Moment by moment I'm under his care.

Never a heartache, and never a groan,Never a tear-drop, and never a moan,Never a danger but there, on the throne,Moment by moment, He thinks of his own.

Never a heartache, and never a groan,

Never a tear-drop, and never a moan,

Never a danger but there, on the throne,

Moment by moment, He thinks of his own.

Never a weakness that He doth not feel;Never a sickness that He cannot heal.Moment by moment, in woe or in weal,Jesus, my Saviour, abides with me still.

Never a weakness that He doth not feel;

Never a sickness that He cannot heal.

Moment by moment, in woe or in weal,

Jesus, my Saviour, abides with me still.

—Daniel W. Whittle.

———

There's a divinity that shapes our endsRough-hew them how we will.—William Shakespeare.

There's a divinity that shapes our endsRough-hew them how we will.

There's a divinity that shapes our ends

Rough-hew them how we will.

—William Shakespeare.

———

It is the evening hour,And thankfully,Father, thy weary childHas come to thee.I lean my aching headUpon thy breast,And there, and only there,I am at rest.Thou knowest all my life,Each petty sin,Nothing is hid from theeWithout, within.All that I have or amIs wholly thine,So is my soul at peace,For thou art mine.To-morrow's dawn may findMe here, or there;It matters little, since thy loveIs everywhere!

It is the evening hour,And thankfully,Father, thy weary childHas come to thee.

It is the evening hour,

And thankfully,

Father, thy weary child

Has come to thee.

I lean my aching headUpon thy breast,And there, and only there,I am at rest.

I lean my aching head

Upon thy breast,

And there, and only there,

I am at rest.

Thou knowest all my life,Each petty sin,Nothing is hid from theeWithout, within.

Thou knowest all my life,

Each petty sin,

Nothing is hid from thee

Without, within.

All that I have or amIs wholly thine,So is my soul at peace,For thou art mine.

All that I have or am

Is wholly thine,

So is my soul at peace,

For thou art mine.

To-morrow's dawn may findMe here, or there;It matters little, since thy loveIs everywhere!

To-morrow's dawn may find

Me here, or there;

It matters little, since thy love

Is everywhere!

———

No care can come where God doth guard;No ill befall whom he doth keep;In safety hid, of trouble rid,I lay me down in peace and sleep.I wholly love thy holy name;I hail with glee thy glorious will;Where'er I go, 'tis joy to knowThat thou, my King, art near me still.Thy power immense, consummate, grand,Thy wisdom, known to thee alone,Thy perfect love, all thought above,Make me a sharer in thy throne.With thee abiding none can fear,Nor lack, of every good possessed;Thy grace avails, whate'er assails,And I in thee am fully blest.Then leap, my heart, exultant, strong,Cast every doubt and weight away;Give thanks and praise to God always,For he will guide to perfect day!—James Mudge.

No care can come where God doth guard;No ill befall whom he doth keep;In safety hid, of trouble rid,I lay me down in peace and sleep.

No care can come where God doth guard;

No ill befall whom he doth keep;

In safety hid, of trouble rid,

I lay me down in peace and sleep.

I wholly love thy holy name;I hail with glee thy glorious will;Where'er I go, 'tis joy to knowThat thou, my King, art near me still.

I wholly love thy holy name;

I hail with glee thy glorious will;

Where'er I go, 'tis joy to know

That thou, my King, art near me still.

Thy power immense, consummate, grand,Thy wisdom, known to thee alone,Thy perfect love, all thought above,Make me a sharer in thy throne.

Thy power immense, consummate, grand,

Thy wisdom, known to thee alone,

Thy perfect love, all thought above,

Make me a sharer in thy throne.

With thee abiding none can fear,Nor lack, of every good possessed;Thy grace avails, whate'er assails,And I in thee am fully blest.

With thee abiding none can fear,

Nor lack, of every good possessed;

Thy grace avails, whate'er assails,

And I in thee am fully blest.

Then leap, my heart, exultant, strong,Cast every doubt and weight away;Give thanks and praise to God always,For he will guide to perfect day!

Then leap, my heart, exultant, strong,

Cast every doubt and weight away;

Give thanks and praise to God always,

For he will guide to perfect day!

—James Mudge.

———

What can it mean? Is it aught to himThat the nights are long and the days are dim?Can he be touched by griefs I bearWhich sadden the heart and whiten the hair?Around his throne are eternal calms,And strong, glad music of happy psalms,And bliss unruffled by any strife.How can he care for my poor life?And yet I want him to care for meWhile I live in this world where the sorrows be;When the lights die down on the path I take,When strength is feeble, and friends forsake,When love and music, that once did bless,Have left me to silence and loneliness,And life's song changes to sobbing prayers—Then my heart cries out for God who cares.When shadows hang o'er me the whole day long,And my spirit is bowed with shame and wrong;When I am not good, and the deeper shadeOf conscious sin makes my heart afraid;And the busy world has too much to doTo stay in its course to help me through,And I long for a Saviour—can it beThat the God of the Universe cares for me?Oh, wonderful story of deathless love!Each child is dear to that heart above;He fights for me when I cannot fight;He comforts me in the gloom of night;He lifts the burden, for he is strong;He stills the sigh and awakes the song;The sorrow that bowed me down he bears,And loves and pardons because he cares.Let all who are sad take heart again;We are not alone in hours of pain;Our Father stoops from his throne aboveTo soothe and quiet us with his love.He leaves us not when the storm is high,And we have safety, for he is nigh.Can it be trouble which he doth share?O rest in peace, for the Lord does care.

What can it mean? Is it aught to him

That the nights are long and the days are dim?

Can he be touched by griefs I bear

Which sadden the heart and whiten the hair?

Around his throne are eternal calms,

And strong, glad music of happy psalms,

And bliss unruffled by any strife.

How can he care for my poor life?

And yet I want him to care for meWhile I live in this world where the sorrows be;When the lights die down on the path I take,When strength is feeble, and friends forsake,When love and music, that once did bless,Have left me to silence and loneliness,And life's song changes to sobbing prayers—Then my heart cries out for God who cares.

And yet I want him to care for me

While I live in this world where the sorrows be;

When the lights die down on the path I take,

When strength is feeble, and friends forsake,

When love and music, that once did bless,

Have left me to silence and loneliness,

And life's song changes to sobbing prayers—

Then my heart cries out for God who cares.

When shadows hang o'er me the whole day long,And my spirit is bowed with shame and wrong;When I am not good, and the deeper shadeOf conscious sin makes my heart afraid;And the busy world has too much to doTo stay in its course to help me through,And I long for a Saviour—can it beThat the God of the Universe cares for me?

When shadows hang o'er me the whole day long,

And my spirit is bowed with shame and wrong;

When I am not good, and the deeper shade

Of conscious sin makes my heart afraid;

And the busy world has too much to do

To stay in its course to help me through,

And I long for a Saviour—can it be

That the God of the Universe cares for me?

Oh, wonderful story of deathless love!Each child is dear to that heart above;He fights for me when I cannot fight;He comforts me in the gloom of night;He lifts the burden, for he is strong;He stills the sigh and awakes the song;The sorrow that bowed me down he bears,And loves and pardons because he cares.

Oh, wonderful story of deathless love!

Each child is dear to that heart above;

He fights for me when I cannot fight;

He comforts me in the gloom of night;

He lifts the burden, for he is strong;

He stills the sigh and awakes the song;

The sorrow that bowed me down he bears,

And loves and pardons because he cares.

Let all who are sad take heart again;We are not alone in hours of pain;Our Father stoops from his throne aboveTo soothe and quiet us with his love.He leaves us not when the storm is high,And we have safety, for he is nigh.Can it be trouble which he doth share?O rest in peace, for the Lord does care.

Let all who are sad take heart again;

We are not alone in hours of pain;

Our Father stoops from his throne above

To soothe and quiet us with his love.

He leaves us not when the storm is high,

And we have safety, for he is nigh.

Can it be trouble which he doth share?

O rest in peace, for the Lord does care.

———

Thou who art touched with feeling of our woes,Let me on thee my heavy burden cast!My aching, anguished heart on thee repose.Leaving with thee the sad mysterious past;Let me submissive bow and kiss the rod;Let me "be still, and know that thou art God."Why should my harassed agitated mindGo round and round this terrible event?Striving in vain some brighter side to find,Some cause why all this anguish has been sent?Do I indeed that sacred truth believe—Thou dost not willingly afflict and grieve?My lovely gourd is withered in an hour!I droop, I faint beneath the scorching sun;My Shepherd, lead me to some sheltering bower;There where thy little flock "lie down at noon";Though of my dearest earthly joy bereftThou art my portion still; thou, thou, my God, art left.—Charlotte Elliott.

Thou who art touched with feeling of our woes,

Let me on thee my heavy burden cast!

My aching, anguished heart on thee repose.

Leaving with thee the sad mysterious past;

Let me submissive bow and kiss the rod;

Let me "be still, and know that thou art God."

Why should my harassed agitated mindGo round and round this terrible event?Striving in vain some brighter side to find,Some cause why all this anguish has been sent?Do I indeed that sacred truth believe—Thou dost not willingly afflict and grieve?

Why should my harassed agitated mind

Go round and round this terrible event?

Striving in vain some brighter side to find,

Some cause why all this anguish has been sent?

Do I indeed that sacred truth believe—

Thou dost not willingly afflict and grieve?

My lovely gourd is withered in an hour!I droop, I faint beneath the scorching sun;My Shepherd, lead me to some sheltering bower;There where thy little flock "lie down at noon";Though of my dearest earthly joy bereftThou art my portion still; thou, thou, my God, art left.

My lovely gourd is withered in an hour!

I droop, I faint beneath the scorching sun;

My Shepherd, lead me to some sheltering bower;

There where thy little flock "lie down at noon";

Though of my dearest earthly joy bereft

Thou art my portion still; thou, thou, my God, art left.

—Charlotte Elliott.

———

Says God: "Who comes towards me an inch through doubtings dim,In blazing light I do approach a yard towards him."—Oriental, tr. by William Rounseville Alger.

Says God: "Who comes towards me an inch through doubtings dim,In blazing light I do approach a yard towards him."

Says God: "Who comes towards me an inch through doubtings dim,

In blazing light I do approach a yard towards him."

—Oriental, tr. by William Rounseville Alger.

———

The light of love is round His feet,His paths are never dim;And He comes nigh to us, when weDare not come nigh to Him.—Frederick William Faber.

The light of love is round His feet,His paths are never dim;And He comes nigh to us, when weDare not come nigh to Him.

The light of love is round His feet,

His paths are never dim;

And He comes nigh to us, when we

Dare not come nigh to Him.

—Frederick William Faber.

———

Not in our waking hours aloneHis constancy and care are known,But locked in slumber fast and deepHe giveth to us while we sleep.—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.

Not in our waking hours aloneHis constancy and care are known,But locked in slumber fast and deepHe giveth to us while we sleep.

Not in our waking hours alone

His constancy and care are known,

But locked in slumber fast and deep

He giveth to us while we sleep.

—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.

———

God holds the key of all unknown,And I am glad.If other hands should hold the key,Or if he trusted it to me,I might be sad.What if to-morrow's cares were hereWithout its rest?I'd rather he unlock the day,And as the hours swing open say,"Thy will be best."The very dimness of my sightMakes me secure;For groping in my misty way,I feel his hand; I hear him say,"My help is sure."I cannot read his future plan,But this I know:I have the smiling of his face,And all the refuge of his grace,While here below.Enough; this covers all my want,And so I rest;For what I cannot he can see,And in his care I sure shall beForever blest.—John Parker.

God holds the key of all unknown,And I am glad.If other hands should hold the key,Or if he trusted it to me,I might be sad.

God holds the key of all unknown,

And I am glad.

If other hands should hold the key,

Or if he trusted it to me,

I might be sad.

What if to-morrow's cares were hereWithout its rest?I'd rather he unlock the day,And as the hours swing open say,"Thy will be best."

What if to-morrow's cares were here

Without its rest?

I'd rather he unlock the day,

And as the hours swing open say,

"Thy will be best."

The very dimness of my sightMakes me secure;For groping in my misty way,I feel his hand; I hear him say,"My help is sure."

The very dimness of my sight

Makes me secure;

For groping in my misty way,

I feel his hand; I hear him say,

"My help is sure."

I cannot read his future plan,But this I know:I have the smiling of his face,And all the refuge of his grace,While here below.

I cannot read his future plan,

But this I know:

I have the smiling of his face,

And all the refuge of his grace,

While here below.

Enough; this covers all my want,And so I rest;For what I cannot he can see,And in his care I sure shall beForever blest.

Enough; this covers all my want,

And so I rest;

For what I cannot he can see,

And in his care I sure shall be

Forever blest.

—John Parker.

———

Forever, from the hand that takesOne blessing from us, others fall;And soon or late our Father makesHis perfect recompense to all.—John Greenleaf Whittier.

Forever, from the hand that takesOne blessing from us, others fall;And soon or late our Father makesHis perfect recompense to all.

Forever, from the hand that takes

One blessing from us, others fall;

And soon or late our Father makes

His perfect recompense to all.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

———

Nothing pays but God,Served—in work obscure done honestly,Or vote for truth unpopular, or faith maintainedTo ruinous convictions.—James Russell Lowell.

Nothing pays but God,Served—in work obscure done honestly,Or vote for truth unpopular, or faith maintainedTo ruinous convictions.

Nothing pays but God,

Served—in work obscure done honestly,

Or vote for truth unpopular, or faith maintained

To ruinous convictions.

—James Russell Lowell.

———

He did God's will, to him all one,If on the earth or in the sun.—Robert Browning.

He did God's will, to him all one,If on the earth or in the sun.

He did God's will, to him all one,

If on the earth or in the sun.

—Robert Browning.

———

I amPart of that Power, not understood,Which always wills the badAnd always works the good.(Mephistopheles, in Faust.)—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

I amPart of that Power, not understood,Which always wills the badAnd always works the good.(Mephistopheles, in Faust.)

I am

Part of that Power, not understood,

Which always wills the bad

And always works the good.

(Mephistopheles, in Faust.)

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

———

I have no answer, for myself or thee,Save that I learned beside my mother's knee:"All is of God that is, and is to be;And God is good." Let this suffice us still,Resting in childlike trust upon his willWho moves to his great ends unthwarted by the ill.—John Greenleaf Whittier.

I have no answer, for myself or thee,

Save that I learned beside my mother's knee:

"All is of God that is, and is to be;

And God is good." Let this suffice us still,

Resting in childlike trust upon his will

Who moves to his great ends unthwarted by the ill.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

———

He knows, he loves, he cares,Nothing his truth can dim;He gives his very best to thoseWho leave the choice to him.

He knows, he loves, he cares,

Nothing his truth can dim;

He gives his very best to those

Who leave the choice to him.

———

No help! nay, it is not so!Though human help be far, thy God is nigh.Who feeds the ravens hears his children's cry;He's near thee wheresoe'er thy footsteps roam,And he will guide thee, light thee, help thee home.

No help! nay, it is not so!

Though human help be far, thy God is nigh.

Who feeds the ravens hears his children's cry;

He's near thee wheresoe'er thy footsteps roam,

And he will guide thee, light thee, help thee home.

———

God sees me though I see him not;I know I shall not be forgot;For though I be the smallest dot,It is his mercy shapes my lot.—From the Scandinavian, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

God sees me though I see him not;I know I shall not be forgot;For though I be the smallest dot,It is his mercy shapes my lot.

God sees me though I see him not;

I know I shall not be forgot;

For though I be the smallest dot,

It is his mercy shapes my lot.

—From the Scandinavian, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

———

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."

———

Dance, O my soul! 'tis God doth play;His will makes music all the day;That song which rings the world aroundThis heart of mine shall ever sound.—James Mudge.

Dance, O my soul! 'tis God doth play;His will makes music all the day;That song which rings the world aroundThis heart of mine shall ever sound.

Dance, O my soul! 'tis God doth play;

His will makes music all the day;

That song which rings the world around

This heart of mine shall ever sound.

—James Mudge.

———

Let one more attest:I have seen God's hand through a life time,And all was for best.—Robert Browning.

Let one more attest:I have seen God's hand through a life time,And all was for best.

Let one more attest:

I have seen God's hand through a life time,

And all was for best.

—Robert Browning.

I worship thee, sweet will of God!And all thy ways adore.And every day I live I seemTo love thee more and more.Thou wert the end, the blessed ruleOf our Saviour's toils and tears;Thou wert the passion of his heartThose three and thirty years.And he hath breathed into my soulA special love of thee,A love to lose my will in his,And by that loss be free.I love to kiss each print where thouHast set thine unseen feet;I cannot fear thee, blessed will!Thine empire is so sweet.When obstacles and trials seemLike prison walls to be,I do the little I can do,And leave the rest to thee.I know not what it is to doubt;My heart is ever gay;I run no risk, for come what willThou always hast thy way.I have no cares, O blessed will!For all my cares are thine;I live in triumph, Lord, for thouHast made thy triumphs mine.And when it seems no chance or changeFrom grief can set me free,Hope finds its strength in helplessness,And gayly waits on thee.Man's weakness waiting upon GodIts end can never miss,For man on earth no work can doMore angel-like than this.Ride on, ride on triumphantly,Thou glorious Will! ride on;Faith's pilgrim sons behind thee takeThe road that thou hast gone.He always wins who sides with God,To him no chance is lost;God's will is sweetest to him whenIt triumphs at his cost.Ill that he blesses is our good,And unblest good is ill;And all is right that seems most wrongIf it be his sweet will!—Frederick William Faber.

I worship thee, sweet will of God!And all thy ways adore.And every day I live I seemTo love thee more and more.

I worship thee, sweet will of God!

And all thy ways adore.

And every day I live I seem

To love thee more and more.

Thou wert the end, the blessed ruleOf our Saviour's toils and tears;Thou wert the passion of his heartThose three and thirty years.

Thou wert the end, the blessed rule

Of our Saviour's toils and tears;

Thou wert the passion of his heart

Those three and thirty years.

And he hath breathed into my soulA special love of thee,A love to lose my will in his,And by that loss be free.

And he hath breathed into my soul

A special love of thee,

A love to lose my will in his,

And by that loss be free.

I love to kiss each print where thouHast set thine unseen feet;I cannot fear thee, blessed will!Thine empire is so sweet.

I love to kiss each print where thou

Hast set thine unseen feet;

I cannot fear thee, blessed will!

Thine empire is so sweet.

When obstacles and trials seemLike prison walls to be,I do the little I can do,And leave the rest to thee.

When obstacles and trials seem

Like prison walls to be,

I do the little I can do,

And leave the rest to thee.

I know not what it is to doubt;My heart is ever gay;I run no risk, for come what willThou always hast thy way.

I know not what it is to doubt;

My heart is ever gay;

I run no risk, for come what will

Thou always hast thy way.

I have no cares, O blessed will!For all my cares are thine;I live in triumph, Lord, for thouHast made thy triumphs mine.

I have no cares, O blessed will!

For all my cares are thine;

I live in triumph, Lord, for thou

Hast made thy triumphs mine.

And when it seems no chance or changeFrom grief can set me free,Hope finds its strength in helplessness,And gayly waits on thee.

And when it seems no chance or change

From grief can set me free,

Hope finds its strength in helplessness,

And gayly waits on thee.

Man's weakness waiting upon GodIts end can never miss,For man on earth no work can doMore angel-like than this.

Man's weakness waiting upon God

Its end can never miss,

For man on earth no work can do

More angel-like than this.

Ride on, ride on triumphantly,Thou glorious Will! ride on;Faith's pilgrim sons behind thee takeThe road that thou hast gone.

Ride on, ride on triumphantly,

Thou glorious Will! ride on;

Faith's pilgrim sons behind thee take

The road that thou hast gone.

He always wins who sides with God,To him no chance is lost;God's will is sweetest to him whenIt triumphs at his cost.

He always wins who sides with God,

To him no chance is lost;

God's will is sweetest to him when

It triumphs at his cost.

Ill that he blesses is our good,And unblest good is ill;And all is right that seems most wrongIf it be his sweet will!

Ill that he blesses is our good,

And unblest good is ill;

And all is right that seems most wrong

If it be his sweet will!

—Frederick William Faber.

———

Thy will, O God, is joy to me,A gladsome thing;For in it naught but love I see,Whate'er it bring.No bed of pain, no rack of woe—Thy will is good;A glory wheresoe'er I go,My daily food.Within the circle of thy willAll things abide;So I, exulting, find no illWhere thou dost guide.In that resplendent will of thineI calmly rest;Triumphantly I make it mine,And count it best.To doubt and gloom and care and fearI yield no jot;Thy choice I choose, with soul sincere,Thrice happy lot!In all the small events that fallFrom day to dayI mark thy hand, I hear thy call,And swift obey.I walk by faith, not sense or sight;Calm faith in thee;My peace endures, my way is bright,My heart is free.Unfaltering trust, complete content,The days ensphere,Each meal becomes a sacrament,And heaven is here.—James Mudge.

Thy will, O God, is joy to me,A gladsome thing;For in it naught but love I see,Whate'er it bring.

Thy will, O God, is joy to me,

A gladsome thing;

For in it naught but love I see,

Whate'er it bring.

No bed of pain, no rack of woe—Thy will is good;A glory wheresoe'er I go,My daily food.

No bed of pain, no rack of woe—

Thy will is good;

A glory wheresoe'er I go,

My daily food.

Within the circle of thy willAll things abide;So I, exulting, find no illWhere thou dost guide.

Within the circle of thy will

All things abide;

So I, exulting, find no ill

Where thou dost guide.

In that resplendent will of thineI calmly rest;Triumphantly I make it mine,And count it best.

In that resplendent will of thine

I calmly rest;

Triumphantly I make it mine,

And count it best.

To doubt and gloom and care and fearI yield no jot;Thy choice I choose, with soul sincere,Thrice happy lot!

To doubt and gloom and care and fear

I yield no jot;

Thy choice I choose, with soul sincere,

Thrice happy lot!

In all the small events that fallFrom day to dayI mark thy hand, I hear thy call,And swift obey.

In all the small events that fall

From day to day

I mark thy hand, I hear thy call,

And swift obey.

I walk by faith, not sense or sight;Calm faith in thee;My peace endures, my way is bright,My heart is free.

I walk by faith, not sense or sight;

Calm faith in thee;

My peace endures, my way is bright,

My heart is free.

Unfaltering trust, complete content,The days ensphere,Each meal becomes a sacrament,And heaven is here.

Unfaltering trust, complete content,

The days ensphere,

Each meal becomes a sacrament,

And heaven is here.

—James Mudge.

———

The wind that blows can never killThe tree God plants;It bloweth east, it bloweth west,The tender leaves have little rest,But any wind that blows is best;The tree God plantsStrikes deeper root, grows higher still,Spreads wider boughs, for God's good willMeets all its wants.There is no frost hath power to blightThe tree God shields;The roots are warm beneath soft snows,And when Spring comes it surely knows,And every bud to blossom grows.The tree God shieldsGrows on apace by day and night,Till sweet to taste and fair to sightIts fruit it yields.There is no storm hath power to blastThe tree God knows;No thunderbolt, nor beating rain,Nor lightning flash, nor hurricane—When they are spent it doth remain.The tree God knowsThrough every tempest standeth fast,And from its first day to its lastStill fairer grows.If in the soul's still garden-placeA seed God sows—A little seed—it soon will grow,And far and near all men will knowFor heavenly lands he bids it blow.A seed God sows,And up it springs by day and night;Through life, through death, it groweth right;Forever grows.—Lillian E. Barr.

The wind that blows can never kill

The tree God plants;

It bloweth east, it bloweth west,

The tender leaves have little rest,

But any wind that blows is best;

The tree God plants

Strikes deeper root, grows higher still,

Spreads wider boughs, for God's good will

Meets all its wants.

There is no frost hath power to blightThe tree God shields;The roots are warm beneath soft snows,And when Spring comes it surely knows,And every bud to blossom grows.The tree God shieldsGrows on apace by day and night,Till sweet to taste and fair to sightIts fruit it yields.

There is no frost hath power to blight

The tree God shields;

The roots are warm beneath soft snows,

And when Spring comes it surely knows,

And every bud to blossom grows.

The tree God shields

Grows on apace by day and night,

Till sweet to taste and fair to sight

Its fruit it yields.

There is no storm hath power to blastThe tree God knows;No thunderbolt, nor beating rain,Nor lightning flash, nor hurricane—When they are spent it doth remain.The tree God knowsThrough every tempest standeth fast,And from its first day to its lastStill fairer grows.

There is no storm hath power to blast

The tree God knows;

No thunderbolt, nor beating rain,

Nor lightning flash, nor hurricane—

When they are spent it doth remain.

The tree God knows

Through every tempest standeth fast,

And from its first day to its last

Still fairer grows.

If in the soul's still garden-placeA seed God sows—A little seed—it soon will grow,And far and near all men will knowFor heavenly lands he bids it blow.A seed God sows,And up it springs by day and night;Through life, through death, it groweth right;Forever grows.

If in the soul's still garden-place

A seed God sows—

A little seed—it soon will grow,

And far and near all men will know

For heavenly lands he bids it blow.

A seed God sows,

And up it springs by day and night;

Through life, through death, it groweth right;

Forever grows.

—Lillian E. Barr.

———

Take thine own way with me, dear Lord,Thou canst not otherwise than bless.I launch me forth upon a seaOf boundless love and tenderness.I could not choose a larger blissThan to be wholly thine; and mineA will whose highest joy is this,To ceaselessly unclasp in thine.I will not fear thee, O my God!The days to come can only bringTheir perfect sequences of love,Thy larger, deeper comforting.Within the shadow of this love,Loss doth transmute itself to gain;Faith veils earth's sorrow in its light,And straightway lives above her pain.We are not losers thus; we shareThe perfect gladness of the Son,Not conquered—for, behold, we reign;Conquered and Conqueror are one.Thy wonderful, grand will, my God,Triumphantly I make it mine;And faith shall breathe her glad "Amen"To every dear command of thine.Beneath the splendor of thy choice,Thy perfect choice for me, I rest;Outside it now I dare not live,Within it I must needs be blest.Meanwhile my spirit anchors calmIn grander regions still than this;The fair, far-shining latitudesOf that yet unexplorèd bliss.Then may thy perfect glorious willBe evermore fulfilled in me,And make my life an answering chordOf glad, responsive harmony.Oh! it is life indeed to liveWithin this kingdom strangely sweet;And yet we fear to enter in,And linger with unwilling feet.We fear this wondrous will of thineBecause we have not reached thy heart.Not venturing our all on theeWe may not know how good thou art.—Jean Sophia Pigott.

Take thine own way with me, dear Lord,Thou canst not otherwise than bless.I launch me forth upon a seaOf boundless love and tenderness.

Take thine own way with me, dear Lord,

Thou canst not otherwise than bless.

I launch me forth upon a sea

Of boundless love and tenderness.

I could not choose a larger blissThan to be wholly thine; and mineA will whose highest joy is this,To ceaselessly unclasp in thine.

I could not choose a larger bliss

Than to be wholly thine; and mine

A will whose highest joy is this,

To ceaselessly unclasp in thine.

I will not fear thee, O my God!The days to come can only bringTheir perfect sequences of love,Thy larger, deeper comforting.

I will not fear thee, O my God!

The days to come can only bring

Their perfect sequences of love,

Thy larger, deeper comforting.

Within the shadow of this love,Loss doth transmute itself to gain;Faith veils earth's sorrow in its light,And straightway lives above her pain.

Within the shadow of this love,

Loss doth transmute itself to gain;

Faith veils earth's sorrow in its light,

And straightway lives above her pain.

We are not losers thus; we shareThe perfect gladness of the Son,Not conquered—for, behold, we reign;Conquered and Conqueror are one.

We are not losers thus; we share

The perfect gladness of the Son,

Not conquered—for, behold, we reign;

Conquered and Conqueror are one.

Thy wonderful, grand will, my God,Triumphantly I make it mine;And faith shall breathe her glad "Amen"To every dear command of thine.

Thy wonderful, grand will, my God,

Triumphantly I make it mine;

And faith shall breathe her glad "Amen"

To every dear command of thine.

Beneath the splendor of thy choice,Thy perfect choice for me, I rest;Outside it now I dare not live,Within it I must needs be blest.

Beneath the splendor of thy choice,

Thy perfect choice for me, I rest;

Outside it now I dare not live,

Within it I must needs be blest.

Meanwhile my spirit anchors calmIn grander regions still than this;The fair, far-shining latitudesOf that yet unexplorèd bliss.

Meanwhile my spirit anchors calm

In grander regions still than this;

The fair, far-shining latitudes

Of that yet unexplorèd bliss.

Then may thy perfect glorious willBe evermore fulfilled in me,And make my life an answering chordOf glad, responsive harmony.

Then may thy perfect glorious will

Be evermore fulfilled in me,

And make my life an answering chord

Of glad, responsive harmony.

Oh! it is life indeed to liveWithin this kingdom strangely sweet;And yet we fear to enter in,And linger with unwilling feet.

Oh! it is life indeed to live

Within this kingdom strangely sweet;

And yet we fear to enter in,

And linger with unwilling feet.

We fear this wondrous will of thineBecause we have not reached thy heart.Not venturing our all on theeWe may not know how good thou art.

We fear this wondrous will of thine

Because we have not reached thy heart.

Not venturing our all on thee

We may not know how good thou art.

—Jean Sophia Pigott.

———

Deep at the heart of all our pain,In loss as surely as in gain,His love abideth still.Let come what will my heart shall standOn this firm rock at his right hand,"Father, it is thy will."—John White Chadwick.

Deep at the heart of all our pain,In loss as surely as in gain,His love abideth still.Let come what will my heart shall standOn this firm rock at his right hand,"Father, it is thy will."

Deep at the heart of all our pain,

In loss as surely as in gain,

His love abideth still.

Let come what will my heart shall stand

On this firm rock at his right hand,

"Father, it is thy will."

—John White Chadwick.

———

O Lord! at Joseph's humble benchThy hands did handle saw and plane,Thy hammer nails did drive and clench,Avoiding knot, and humoring grain.That thou didst seem thouwastindeed,In sport thy tools thou didst not use,Nor, helping hind's or fisher's need,The laborer'shiretoo nice refuse.Lord! might I be but as a saw,A plane, a chisel in thy hand!No, Lord! I take it back in awe,Such prayer for me is far too grand.I pray, O Master! let me lie,As on thy bench the favored wood;Thy saw, thy plane, thy chisel ply,And work me into something good.No! no! Ambition holy, high,Urges for more than both to pray;Come in, O gracious force, I cry,O Workman! share my shed of clay.Then I at bench, or desk, or oar,With last, or needle, net, or pen,As thou in Nazareth of yore,Shall do the Father's will again.—George Macdonald.

O Lord! at Joseph's humble benchThy hands did handle saw and plane,Thy hammer nails did drive and clench,Avoiding knot, and humoring grain.

O Lord! at Joseph's humble bench

Thy hands did handle saw and plane,

Thy hammer nails did drive and clench,

Avoiding knot, and humoring grain.

That thou didst seem thouwastindeed,In sport thy tools thou didst not use,Nor, helping hind's or fisher's need,The laborer'shiretoo nice refuse.

That thou didst seem thouwastindeed,

In sport thy tools thou didst not use,

Nor, helping hind's or fisher's need,

The laborer'shiretoo nice refuse.

Lord! might I be but as a saw,A plane, a chisel in thy hand!No, Lord! I take it back in awe,Such prayer for me is far too grand.

Lord! might I be but as a saw,

A plane, a chisel in thy hand!

No, Lord! I take it back in awe,

Such prayer for me is far too grand.

I pray, O Master! let me lie,As on thy bench the favored wood;Thy saw, thy plane, thy chisel ply,And work me into something good.

I pray, O Master! let me lie,

As on thy bench the favored wood;

Thy saw, thy plane, thy chisel ply,

And work me into something good.

No! no! Ambition holy, high,Urges for more than both to pray;Come in, O gracious force, I cry,O Workman! share my shed of clay.

No! no! Ambition holy, high,

Urges for more than both to pray;

Come in, O gracious force, I cry,

O Workman! share my shed of clay.

Then I at bench, or desk, or oar,With last, or needle, net, or pen,As thou in Nazareth of yore,Shall do the Father's will again.

Then I at bench, or desk, or oar,

With last, or needle, net, or pen,

As thou in Nazareth of yore,

Shall do the Father's will again.

—George Macdonald.

———

The Lord our God is clothed with might,The winds obey his will;He speaks, and in his heavenly heightThe rolling sun stands still.Rebel, ye waves, and o'er the landWith threatening aspect roar;The Lord uplifts his awful hand,And chains you to the shore.Ye winds of night, your force combine;Without his high behest,Ye shall not, in the mountain pine,Disturb the sparrow's nest.His voice sublime is heard afar;In distant peals it dies;He yokes the whirlwind to his carAnd sweeps the howling skies.Ye sons of earth, in reverence bend;Ye nations, wait his nod;And bid the choral song ascendTo celebrate our God.—H. Kirke White.

The Lord our God is clothed with might,The winds obey his will;He speaks, and in his heavenly heightThe rolling sun stands still.

The Lord our God is clothed with might,

The winds obey his will;

He speaks, and in his heavenly height

The rolling sun stands still.

Rebel, ye waves, and o'er the landWith threatening aspect roar;The Lord uplifts his awful hand,And chains you to the shore.

Rebel, ye waves, and o'er the land

With threatening aspect roar;

The Lord uplifts his awful hand,

And chains you to the shore.

Ye winds of night, your force combine;Without his high behest,Ye shall not, in the mountain pine,Disturb the sparrow's nest.

Ye winds of night, your force combine;

Without his high behest,

Ye shall not, in the mountain pine,

Disturb the sparrow's nest.

His voice sublime is heard afar;In distant peals it dies;He yokes the whirlwind to his carAnd sweeps the howling skies.

His voice sublime is heard afar;

In distant peals it dies;

He yokes the whirlwind to his car

And sweeps the howling skies.

Ye sons of earth, in reverence bend;Ye nations, wait his nod;And bid the choral song ascendTo celebrate our God.

Ye sons of earth, in reverence bend;

Ye nations, wait his nod;

And bid the choral song ascend

To celebrate our God.

—H. Kirke White.

———

Thou sweet, beloved will of God,My anchor ground, my fortress hill,My spirit's silent, fair abode,In thee I hide me and am still.O Will, that willest good alone,Lead thou the way, thou guidest best;A little child, I follow on,And, trusting, lean upon thy breast.Thy beautiful sweet will, my God,Holds fast in its sublime embraceMy captive will, a gladsome bird,Prisoned in such a realm of grace.Within this place of certain goodLove evermore expands her wings,Or, nestling in thy perfect choice,Abides content with what it brings.Oh lightest burden, sweetest yoke!It lifts, it bears my happy soul,It giveth wings to this poor heart;My freedom is thy grand control.Upon God's will I lay me down,As child upon its mother's breast;No silken couch, nor softest bed,Could ever give me such deep rest.Thy wonderful grand will, my God,With triumph now I make it mine;And faith shall cry a joyous Yes!To every dear command of thine.

Thou sweet, beloved will of God,My anchor ground, my fortress hill,My spirit's silent, fair abode,In thee I hide me and am still.

Thou sweet, beloved will of God,

My anchor ground, my fortress hill,

My spirit's silent, fair abode,

In thee I hide me and am still.

O Will, that willest good alone,Lead thou the way, thou guidest best;A little child, I follow on,And, trusting, lean upon thy breast.

O Will, that willest good alone,

Lead thou the way, thou guidest best;

A little child, I follow on,

And, trusting, lean upon thy breast.

Thy beautiful sweet will, my God,Holds fast in its sublime embraceMy captive will, a gladsome bird,Prisoned in such a realm of grace.

Thy beautiful sweet will, my God,

Holds fast in its sublime embrace

My captive will, a gladsome bird,

Prisoned in such a realm of grace.

Within this place of certain goodLove evermore expands her wings,Or, nestling in thy perfect choice,Abides content with what it brings.

Within this place of certain good

Love evermore expands her wings,

Or, nestling in thy perfect choice,

Abides content with what it brings.

Oh lightest burden, sweetest yoke!It lifts, it bears my happy soul,It giveth wings to this poor heart;My freedom is thy grand control.

Oh lightest burden, sweetest yoke!

It lifts, it bears my happy soul,

It giveth wings to this poor heart;

My freedom is thy grand control.

Upon God's will I lay me down,As child upon its mother's breast;No silken couch, nor softest bed,Could ever give me such deep rest.

Upon God's will I lay me down,

As child upon its mother's breast;

No silken couch, nor softest bed,

Could ever give me such deep rest.

Thy wonderful grand will, my God,With triumph now I make it mine;And faith shall cry a joyous Yes!To every dear command of thine.

Thy wonderful grand will, my God,

With triumph now I make it mine;

And faith shall cry a joyous Yes!

To every dear command of thine.

———

The sky is clouded, the rocks are bare!The spray of the tempest is white in air;The winds are out with the waves at play,And I shall not tempt the sea to-day.The trail is narrow, the wood is dim,The panther clings to the arching limb;And the lion's whelps are abroad at play,And I shall not join in the chase to-day.But the ship sailed safely over the sea,And the hunters came from the chase in glee;And the town that was builded upon a rockWas swallowed up in the earthquake's shock.—Francis Bret Harte.

The sky is clouded, the rocks are bare!The spray of the tempest is white in air;The winds are out with the waves at play,And I shall not tempt the sea to-day.

The sky is clouded, the rocks are bare!

The spray of the tempest is white in air;

The winds are out with the waves at play,

And I shall not tempt the sea to-day.

The trail is narrow, the wood is dim,The panther clings to the arching limb;And the lion's whelps are abroad at play,And I shall not join in the chase to-day.

The trail is narrow, the wood is dim,

The panther clings to the arching limb;

And the lion's whelps are abroad at play,

And I shall not join in the chase to-day.

But the ship sailed safely over the sea,And the hunters came from the chase in glee;And the town that was builded upon a rockWas swallowed up in the earthquake's shock.

But the ship sailed safely over the sea,

And the hunters came from the chase in glee;

And the town that was builded upon a rock

Was swallowed up in the earthquake's shock.

—Francis Bret Harte.

———

Let me not die before I've done for theeMy earthly work, whatever it may be;Call me not hence with mission unfulfilled;Let me not leave my space of ground untilled;Impress this truth upon me, that not oneCan do my portion that I leave undone.Then give me strength all faithfully to toil,Converting barren earth to fruitful soil.I long to be an instrument of thineFor gathering worshipers into thy shrine:To be the means one human soul to saveFrom the dark terrors of a hopeless grave.Yet most I want a spirit of contentTo work where'er thou'lt wish my labor spent,Whether at home or in a stranger's clime,In days of joy or sorrow's sterner time;I want a spirit passive to be still,And by thy power to do thy holy will.And when the prayer unto my lips doth rise,"Before a new home doth my soul surprise,Let me accomplishsome great workfor thee,"Subdue it, Lord; let my petition be,"O make me useful in this world of thine,In ways according to thy will, not mine."

Let me not die before I've done for thee

My earthly work, whatever it may be;

Call me not hence with mission unfulfilled;

Let me not leave my space of ground untilled;

Impress this truth upon me, that not one

Can do my portion that I leave undone.

Then give me strength all faithfully to toil,Converting barren earth to fruitful soil.I long to be an instrument of thineFor gathering worshipers into thy shrine:To be the means one human soul to saveFrom the dark terrors of a hopeless grave.

Then give me strength all faithfully to toil,

Converting barren earth to fruitful soil.

I long to be an instrument of thine

For gathering worshipers into thy shrine:

To be the means one human soul to save

From the dark terrors of a hopeless grave.

Yet most I want a spirit of contentTo work where'er thou'lt wish my labor spent,Whether at home or in a stranger's clime,In days of joy or sorrow's sterner time;I want a spirit passive to be still,And by thy power to do thy holy will.

Yet most I want a spirit of content

To work where'er thou'lt wish my labor spent,

Whether at home or in a stranger's clime,

In days of joy or sorrow's sterner time;

I want a spirit passive to be still,

And by thy power to do thy holy will.

And when the prayer unto my lips doth rise,"Before a new home doth my soul surprise,Let me accomplishsome great workfor thee,"Subdue it, Lord; let my petition be,"O make me useful in this world of thine,In ways according to thy will, not mine."

And when the prayer unto my lips doth rise,

"Before a new home doth my soul surprise,

Let me accomplishsome great workfor thee,"

Subdue it, Lord; let my petition be,

"O make me useful in this world of thine,

In ways according to thy will, not mine."

———

My Jesus, as thou wilt:O may thy will be mine;Into thy hand of loveI would my all resign.Through sorrow or through joyConduct me as thine own,And help me still to say,"My Lord, thy will be done."My Jesus, as thou wilt:If needy here, and poor,Give me thy people's bread,Their portion rich and sure.The manna of thy wordLet my soul feed upon;And if all else should fail—My Lord, thy will be done.My Jesus, as thou wilt:If among thorns I go,Still sometimes here and thereLet a few roses blow.But thou on earth alongThe thorny path hast gone;Then lead me after thee.My Lord, thy will be done!My Jesus, as thou wilt:Though seen through many a tear,Let not my star of hopeGrow dim or disappear.Since thou on earth hast weptAnd sorrowed oft alone,If I must weep with thee,My Lord, thy will be done.My Jesus, as thou wilt:If loved ones must departSuffer not sorrow's floodTo overwhelm my heart.For they are blest with thee,Their race and conflict won;Let me but follow them.My Lord, thy will be done!My Jesus, as thou wilt:When death itself draws nigh,To thy dear wounded sideI would for refuge fly.Leaning on thee, to goWhere thou before hast gone;The rest as thou shalt please.My Lord, thy will be done!My Jesus, as thou wilt:All shall be well for me;Each changing future sceneI gladly trust with thee.Straight to my home above,I travel calmly on,And sing in life or death,"My Lord, thy will be done."—Benjamin Schmolke, tr. by J. Borthwick.

My Jesus, as thou wilt:O may thy will be mine;Into thy hand of loveI would my all resign.Through sorrow or through joyConduct me as thine own,And help me still to say,"My Lord, thy will be done."

My Jesus, as thou wilt:

O may thy will be mine;

Into thy hand of love

I would my all resign.

Through sorrow or through joy

Conduct me as thine own,

And help me still to say,

"My Lord, thy will be done."

My Jesus, as thou wilt:If needy here, and poor,Give me thy people's bread,Their portion rich and sure.The manna of thy wordLet my soul feed upon;And if all else should fail—My Lord, thy will be done.

My Jesus, as thou wilt:

If needy here, and poor,

Give me thy people's bread,

Their portion rich and sure.

The manna of thy word

Let my soul feed upon;

And if all else should fail—

My Lord, thy will be done.

My Jesus, as thou wilt:If among thorns I go,Still sometimes here and thereLet a few roses blow.But thou on earth alongThe thorny path hast gone;Then lead me after thee.My Lord, thy will be done!

My Jesus, as thou wilt:

If among thorns I go,

Still sometimes here and there

Let a few roses blow.

But thou on earth along

The thorny path hast gone;

Then lead me after thee.

My Lord, thy will be done!

My Jesus, as thou wilt:Though seen through many a tear,Let not my star of hopeGrow dim or disappear.Since thou on earth hast weptAnd sorrowed oft alone,If I must weep with thee,My Lord, thy will be done.

My Jesus, as thou wilt:

Though seen through many a tear,

Let not my star of hope

Grow dim or disappear.

Since thou on earth hast wept

And sorrowed oft alone,

If I must weep with thee,

My Lord, thy will be done.

My Jesus, as thou wilt:If loved ones must departSuffer not sorrow's floodTo overwhelm my heart.For they are blest with thee,Their race and conflict won;Let me but follow them.My Lord, thy will be done!

My Jesus, as thou wilt:

If loved ones must depart

Suffer not sorrow's flood

To overwhelm my heart.

For they are blest with thee,

Their race and conflict won;

Let me but follow them.

My Lord, thy will be done!

My Jesus, as thou wilt:When death itself draws nigh,To thy dear wounded sideI would for refuge fly.Leaning on thee, to goWhere thou before hast gone;The rest as thou shalt please.My Lord, thy will be done!

My Jesus, as thou wilt:

When death itself draws nigh,

To thy dear wounded side

I would for refuge fly.

Leaning on thee, to go

Where thou before hast gone;

The rest as thou shalt please.

My Lord, thy will be done!

My Jesus, as thou wilt:All shall be well for me;Each changing future sceneI gladly trust with thee.Straight to my home above,I travel calmly on,And sing in life or death,"My Lord, thy will be done."

My Jesus, as thou wilt:

All shall be well for me;

Each changing future scene

I gladly trust with thee.

Straight to my home above,

I travel calmly on,

And sing in life or death,

"My Lord, thy will be done."

—Benjamin Schmolke, tr. by J. Borthwick.

———

There is no great nor small in Nature's plan,Bulk is but fancy in the mind of man;A raindrop is as wondrous as a star,Near is not nearest, farthest is not far;And suns and planets in the vast sereneAre lost as midges in the summer sheen,Born in their season; and we live and dieCreatures of Time, lost in Eternity.—Charles Mackay.

There is no great nor small in Nature's plan,

Bulk is but fancy in the mind of man;

A raindrop is as wondrous as a star,

Near is not nearest, farthest is not far;

And suns and planets in the vast serene

Are lost as midges in the summer sheen,

Born in their season; and we live and die

Creatures of Time, lost in Eternity.

—Charles Mackay.

———

My God, my Father, while I strayFar from my home, on life's rough way,O teach me from my heart to say,"Thy will be done!"Though dark my path, and sad my lot,Let me "be still," and murmur not;O breathe the prayer divinely taught,"Thy will be done!"What though in lonely grief I sighFor friends beloved, no longer nigh,Submissive still would I reply"Thy will be done!"Though thou hast called me to resignWhat most I prized, it ne'er was mine;I have but yielded what was thine;"Thy will be done!"Should grief or sickness waste awayMy life in premature decay;My Father! still I strive to say,"Thy will be done!"Let but my fainting heart be blestWith thy sweet Spirit for its guest;My God! to thee I leave the rest:"Thy will be done!"Renew my will from day to day!Blend it with thine; and take awayAll that now makes it hard to say,"Thy will be done!"Then, when on earth I breathe no moreThe prayer oft mixed with tears before,I'll sing upon a happier shore:"Thy will be done!"—Charlotte Elliott.

My God, my Father, while I strayFar from my home, on life's rough way,O teach me from my heart to say,"Thy will be done!"

My God, my Father, while I stray

Far from my home, on life's rough way,

O teach me from my heart to say,

"Thy will be done!"

Though dark my path, and sad my lot,Let me "be still," and murmur not;O breathe the prayer divinely taught,"Thy will be done!"

Though dark my path, and sad my lot,

Let me "be still," and murmur not;

O breathe the prayer divinely taught,

"Thy will be done!"

What though in lonely grief I sighFor friends beloved, no longer nigh,Submissive still would I reply"Thy will be done!"

What though in lonely grief I sigh

For friends beloved, no longer nigh,

Submissive still would I reply

"Thy will be done!"

Though thou hast called me to resignWhat most I prized, it ne'er was mine;I have but yielded what was thine;"Thy will be done!"

Though thou hast called me to resign

What most I prized, it ne'er was mine;

I have but yielded what was thine;

"Thy will be done!"

Should grief or sickness waste awayMy life in premature decay;My Father! still I strive to say,"Thy will be done!"

Should grief or sickness waste away

My life in premature decay;

My Father! still I strive to say,

"Thy will be done!"

Let but my fainting heart be blestWith thy sweet Spirit for its guest;My God! to thee I leave the rest:"Thy will be done!"

Let but my fainting heart be blest

With thy sweet Spirit for its guest;

My God! to thee I leave the rest:

"Thy will be done!"

Renew my will from day to day!Blend it with thine; and take awayAll that now makes it hard to say,"Thy will be done!"

Renew my will from day to day!

Blend it with thine; and take away

All that now makes it hard to say,

"Thy will be done!"

Then, when on earth I breathe no moreThe prayer oft mixed with tears before,I'll sing upon a happier shore:"Thy will be done!"

Then, when on earth I breathe no more

The prayer oft mixed with tears before,

I'll sing upon a happier shore:

"Thy will be done!"

—Charlotte Elliott.

———

All is of God! If he but wave his hand,The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud,Till, with a smile of light on sea and land,Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud.Angels of Life and Death alike are his;Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er;Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this,Against his messengers to shut the door?—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

All is of God! If he but wave his hand,The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud,Till, with a smile of light on sea and land,Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud.

All is of God! If he but wave his hand,

The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud,

Till, with a smile of light on sea and land,

Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud.

Angels of Life and Death alike are his;Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er;Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this,Against his messengers to shut the door?

Angels of Life and Death alike are his;

Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er;

Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this,

Against his messengers to shut the door?

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

———

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