PEACE

Thy way, not mine, O Lord!However dark it be;Lead me by Thine own hand,Choose out the path for me.Smooth let it be, or rough,It will be still the best;Winding or straight it matters not,It leads me to Thy rest.I dare not choose my lot,I would not if I might;Choose Thou for me, O God!So shall I walk aright.The kingdom that I seekIs Thine; so let the wayThat leads to it be thineElse I must surely stray.Take Thou my cup, and itWith joy or sorrow fill;As best to Thee may seem;Choose Thou my good or ill.Choose Thou for me my friendsMy sickness or my health;Choose thou my cares for me,My poverty or wealth.Not mine, not mine the choiceIn things or great or small;Be Thou my guide, my strength,My wisdom and my all.—Horatius Bonar.

Thy way, not mine, O Lord!However dark it be;Lead me by Thine own hand,Choose out the path for me.

Thy way, not mine, O Lord!

However dark it be;

Lead me by Thine own hand,

Choose out the path for me.

Smooth let it be, or rough,It will be still the best;Winding or straight it matters not,It leads me to Thy rest.

Smooth let it be, or rough,

It will be still the best;

Winding or straight it matters not,

It leads me to Thy rest.

I dare not choose my lot,I would not if I might;Choose Thou for me, O God!So shall I walk aright.

I dare not choose my lot,

I would not if I might;

Choose Thou for me, O God!

So shall I walk aright.

The kingdom that I seekIs Thine; so let the wayThat leads to it be thineElse I must surely stray.

The kingdom that I seek

Is Thine; so let the way

That leads to it be thine

Else I must surely stray.

Take Thou my cup, and itWith joy or sorrow fill;As best to Thee may seem;Choose Thou my good or ill.

Take Thou my cup, and it

With joy or sorrow fill;

As best to Thee may seem;

Choose Thou my good or ill.

Choose Thou for me my friendsMy sickness or my health;Choose thou my cares for me,My poverty or wealth.

Choose Thou for me my friends

My sickness or my health;

Choose thou my cares for me,

My poverty or wealth.

Not mine, not mine the choiceIn things or great or small;Be Thou my guide, my strength,My wisdom and my all.

Not mine, not mine the choice

In things or great or small;

Be Thou my guide, my strength,

My wisdom and my all.

—Horatius Bonar.

———

Only to-day is mine,And that I owe to Thee;Help me to make it thine;As pure as it may be;Let it see something done,Let it see something won,Then at the setting sunI'll give it back to thee.What if I cannot tellThe cares the day may bring?I know that I shall dwellBeneath Thy sheltering wing;And there the load is light;And there the dark is bright,And weakness turns to might,And so I trust and sing.What shall I ask to-day?Naught but Thine own sweet will;The windings of the wayLead to thy holy hill;And whether here or thereWhy should I fear or care?Thy heavens are everywhere,And they are o'er me still.Give me Thyself to-day,I dare not walk alone;Speak to me by the way,And "all things are my own";The treasures of thy grace,The secret hiding place,The vision of thy face,The shadow of thy throne!—Henry Burton.

Only to-day is mine,And that I owe to Thee;Help me to make it thine;As pure as it may be;Let it see something done,Let it see something won,Then at the setting sunI'll give it back to thee.

Only to-day is mine,

And that I owe to Thee;

Help me to make it thine;

As pure as it may be;

Let it see something done,

Let it see something won,

Then at the setting sun

I'll give it back to thee.

What if I cannot tellThe cares the day may bring?I know that I shall dwellBeneath Thy sheltering wing;And there the load is light;And there the dark is bright,And weakness turns to might,And so I trust and sing.

What if I cannot tell

The cares the day may bring?

I know that I shall dwell

Beneath Thy sheltering wing;

And there the load is light;

And there the dark is bright,

And weakness turns to might,

And so I trust and sing.

What shall I ask to-day?Naught but Thine own sweet will;The windings of the wayLead to thy holy hill;And whether here or thereWhy should I fear or care?Thy heavens are everywhere,And they are o'er me still.

What shall I ask to-day?

Naught but Thine own sweet will;

The windings of the way

Lead to thy holy hill;

And whether here or there

Why should I fear or care?

Thy heavens are everywhere,

And they are o'er me still.

Give me Thyself to-day,I dare not walk alone;Speak to me by the way,And "all things are my own";The treasures of thy grace,The secret hiding place,The vision of thy face,The shadow of thy throne!

Give me Thyself to-day,

I dare not walk alone;

Speak to me by the way,

And "all things are my own";

The treasures of thy grace,

The secret hiding place,

The vision of thy face,

The shadow of thy throne!

—Henry Burton.

———

No more my own, Lord Jesus,Bought with thy precious blood,I give thee but thine own, Lord,That long thy love withstood.I give the life thou gavest,My present, future, past;My joys, my fears, my sorrows,My first hope and my last.I give thee up my weaknessThat oft distrust hath bred,That thy indwelling powerMay thus be perfected.I give the love the sweetestThy goodness grants to me;Take it, and make it meet, Lord,For offering to thee.Smile, and the very shadowsIn thy blest light shall shine;Take thou my heart, Lord Jesus,For thou hast made it thine.Thou knowest my soul's ambition,For thou hast changed its aim(The world's reproach I fear not)To share a Saviour's shame.Outside the camp to suffer;Within the veil to meet,And hear Thy softest whisperFrom out the mercy-seat.Thou bear'st me in thy bosom,Amidst thy jewels worn,Upon thy hands deep gravenBy arms of love upborne.Rescued from sin's destruction,Ransomed from death and hell;Complete in Thee, Lord Jesus:Thou hast done all things well.Oh, deathless love that bought me!Oh, price beyond my ken!Oh, Life that hides my own lifeE'en from my fellow-men!Now fashion, form and fill meWith light and love divine;So, one with Thee, Lord Jesus,I'm thine—forever thine!

No more my own, Lord Jesus,Bought with thy precious blood,I give thee but thine own, Lord,That long thy love withstood.

No more my own, Lord Jesus,

Bought with thy precious blood,

I give thee but thine own, Lord,

That long thy love withstood.

I give the life thou gavest,My present, future, past;My joys, my fears, my sorrows,My first hope and my last.

I give the life thou gavest,

My present, future, past;

My joys, my fears, my sorrows,

My first hope and my last.

I give thee up my weaknessThat oft distrust hath bred,That thy indwelling powerMay thus be perfected.

I give thee up my weakness

That oft distrust hath bred,

That thy indwelling power

May thus be perfected.

I give the love the sweetestThy goodness grants to me;Take it, and make it meet, Lord,For offering to thee.

I give the love the sweetest

Thy goodness grants to me;

Take it, and make it meet, Lord,

For offering to thee.

Smile, and the very shadowsIn thy blest light shall shine;Take thou my heart, Lord Jesus,For thou hast made it thine.

Smile, and the very shadows

In thy blest light shall shine;

Take thou my heart, Lord Jesus,

For thou hast made it thine.

Thou knowest my soul's ambition,For thou hast changed its aim(The world's reproach I fear not)To share a Saviour's shame.

Thou knowest my soul's ambition,

For thou hast changed its aim

(The world's reproach I fear not)

To share a Saviour's shame.

Outside the camp to suffer;Within the veil to meet,And hear Thy softest whisperFrom out the mercy-seat.

Outside the camp to suffer;

Within the veil to meet,

And hear Thy softest whisper

From out the mercy-seat.

Thou bear'st me in thy bosom,Amidst thy jewels worn,Upon thy hands deep gravenBy arms of love upborne.

Thou bear'st me in thy bosom,

Amidst thy jewels worn,

Upon thy hands deep graven

By arms of love upborne.

Rescued from sin's destruction,Ransomed from death and hell;Complete in Thee, Lord Jesus:Thou hast done all things well.

Rescued from sin's destruction,

Ransomed from death and hell;

Complete in Thee, Lord Jesus:

Thou hast done all things well.

Oh, deathless love that bought me!Oh, price beyond my ken!Oh, Life that hides my own lifeE'en from my fellow-men!

Oh, deathless love that bought me!

Oh, price beyond my ken!

Oh, Life that hides my own life

E'en from my fellow-men!

Now fashion, form and fill meWith light and love divine;So, one with Thee, Lord Jesus,I'm thine—forever thine!

Now fashion, form and fill me

With light and love divine;

So, one with Thee, Lord Jesus,

I'm thine—forever thine!

———

I am but clay in thy hands, but Thou art the all-loving artist;Passive I lie in thy sight, yet in my self-hood I striveSo to embody the life and the love thou ever impartest,That in my sphere of the finite I may be truly alive.Knowing Thou needest this form, as I thy divine inspiration,Knowing thou shapest the clay with a vision and purpose divine,So would I answer each touch of thy hand in its loving creation,That in my conscious life thy power and beauty may shine.Reflecting the noble intent Thou hast in forming thy creatures;Waking from sense into life of the soul, and the image of thee;Working with thee in thy work to model humanity's featuresInto the likeness of God, myself from myself I would free.One with all human existence, no one above or below me;Lit by Thy wisdom and love, as roses are steeped in the morn;Growing from clay to a statue, from statue to flesh, till thou know meWrought into manhood celestial, and in thine image reborn.So in thy love will I trust, bringing me sooner or laterPast the dark screen that divides these shows of the finite from Thee.Thine, thine only, this warm dear life, O loving Creator!Thine the invisible future, born of the present, must be.—Christopher Pearse Cranch.

I am but clay in thy hands, but Thou art the all-loving artist;

Passive I lie in thy sight, yet in my self-hood I strive

So to embody the life and the love thou ever impartest,

That in my sphere of the finite I may be truly alive.

Knowing Thou needest this form, as I thy divine inspiration,Knowing thou shapest the clay with a vision and purpose divine,So would I answer each touch of thy hand in its loving creation,That in my conscious life thy power and beauty may shine.

Knowing Thou needest this form, as I thy divine inspiration,

Knowing thou shapest the clay with a vision and purpose divine,

So would I answer each touch of thy hand in its loving creation,

That in my conscious life thy power and beauty may shine.

Reflecting the noble intent Thou hast in forming thy creatures;Waking from sense into life of the soul, and the image of thee;Working with thee in thy work to model humanity's featuresInto the likeness of God, myself from myself I would free.

Reflecting the noble intent Thou hast in forming thy creatures;

Waking from sense into life of the soul, and the image of thee;

Working with thee in thy work to model humanity's features

Into the likeness of God, myself from myself I would free.

One with all human existence, no one above or below me;Lit by Thy wisdom and love, as roses are steeped in the morn;Growing from clay to a statue, from statue to flesh, till thou know meWrought into manhood celestial, and in thine image reborn.

One with all human existence, no one above or below me;

Lit by Thy wisdom and love, as roses are steeped in the morn;

Growing from clay to a statue, from statue to flesh, till thou know me

Wrought into manhood celestial, and in thine image reborn.

So in thy love will I trust, bringing me sooner or laterPast the dark screen that divides these shows of the finite from Thee.Thine, thine only, this warm dear life, O loving Creator!Thine the invisible future, born of the present, must be.

So in thy love will I trust, bringing me sooner or later

Past the dark screen that divides these shows of the finite from Thee.

Thine, thine only, this warm dear life, O loving Creator!

Thine the invisible future, born of the present, must be.

—Christopher Pearse Cranch.

———

On Thee my heart is resting:Ah! this is rest indeed!What else, Almighty Saviour,Can a poor sinner need?Thy light is all my wisdom,Thy love is all my stay;Our Father's home in gloryDraws nearer every day.Great is my guilt, but greaterThe mercy Thou dost give;Thyself, a spotless offering,Hast died that I should live.With Thee my soul unfetteredHas risen from the dust;Thy blood is all my treasure;Thy word is all my trust.Through me, thou gentle Master,Thy purposes fulfill:I yield myself foreverTo thy most holy will.What though I be but weaknessMy strength is not in me;The poorest of thy peopleHas all things, having Thee.When clouds are darkest round me,Thou, Lord, art then most near,My drooping faith to quicken,My weary soul to cheer.Safe nestling in thy bosom,I gaze upon thy face.In vain my foes would drive meFrom Thee, my hiding-place.'Tis Thou hast made me happy;'Tis thou hast set me free.To whom shall I give gloryForever but to Thee!Of earthly love and blessingShould every stream run dry,Thy grace shall still be with me—Thy grace to live and die!—Theodore Monod.

On Thee my heart is resting:

Ah! this is rest indeed!

What else, Almighty Saviour,

Can a poor sinner need?

Thy light is all my wisdom,

Thy love is all my stay;

Our Father's home in glory

Draws nearer every day.

Great is my guilt, but greaterThe mercy Thou dost give;Thyself, a spotless offering,Hast died that I should live.With Thee my soul unfetteredHas risen from the dust;Thy blood is all my treasure;Thy word is all my trust.

Great is my guilt, but greater

The mercy Thou dost give;

Thyself, a spotless offering,

Hast died that I should live.

With Thee my soul unfettered

Has risen from the dust;

Thy blood is all my treasure;

Thy word is all my trust.

Through me, thou gentle Master,Thy purposes fulfill:I yield myself foreverTo thy most holy will.What though I be but weaknessMy strength is not in me;The poorest of thy peopleHas all things, having Thee.

Through me, thou gentle Master,

Thy purposes fulfill:

I yield myself forever

To thy most holy will.

What though I be but weakness

My strength is not in me;

The poorest of thy people

Has all things, having Thee.

When clouds are darkest round me,Thou, Lord, art then most near,My drooping faith to quicken,My weary soul to cheer.Safe nestling in thy bosom,I gaze upon thy face.In vain my foes would drive meFrom Thee, my hiding-place.

When clouds are darkest round me,

Thou, Lord, art then most near,

My drooping faith to quicken,

My weary soul to cheer.

Safe nestling in thy bosom,

I gaze upon thy face.

In vain my foes would drive me

From Thee, my hiding-place.

'Tis Thou hast made me happy;'Tis thou hast set me free.To whom shall I give gloryForever but to Thee!Of earthly love and blessingShould every stream run dry,Thy grace shall still be with me—Thy grace to live and die!

'Tis Thou hast made me happy;

'Tis thou hast set me free.

To whom shall I give glory

Forever but to Thee!

Of earthly love and blessing

Should every stream run dry,

Thy grace shall still be with me—

Thy grace to live and die!

—Theodore Monod.

———

I love, and have some cause to love, the earth;She is my Maker's creature, therefore good;She is my mother, for she gave me birth;She is my tender nurse, she gives me food;But what's a creature, Lord, compared with Thee?Or what's my mother or my nurse to me?The highest honors that the world can boastAre subjects far too low for my desire;The brightest beams of glory are, at most,But dying sparkles of thy living fire;The proudest flames that earth can kindle beBut nightly glowworms if compared to Thee.Without thy presence, wealth are bags of cares;Wisdom, but folly; joy, disquiet, sadness;Friendship is treason, and delights are snares;Pleasure's but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness:Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be,Nor have their being when compared with Thee.In having all things, and not Thee, what have I?Not having Thee, what have my labors got?Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I?And having Thee alone, what have I not?I wish nor sea nor land; nor would I bePossess'd of heaven, heaven unpossess'd of thee.—Francis Quarles.

I love, and have some cause to love, the earth;

She is my Maker's creature, therefore good;

She is my mother, for she gave me birth;

She is my tender nurse, she gives me food;

But what's a creature, Lord, compared with Thee?

Or what's my mother or my nurse to me?

The highest honors that the world can boastAre subjects far too low for my desire;The brightest beams of glory are, at most,But dying sparkles of thy living fire;The proudest flames that earth can kindle beBut nightly glowworms if compared to Thee.

The highest honors that the world can boast

Are subjects far too low for my desire;

The brightest beams of glory are, at most,

But dying sparkles of thy living fire;

The proudest flames that earth can kindle be

But nightly glowworms if compared to Thee.

Without thy presence, wealth are bags of cares;Wisdom, but folly; joy, disquiet, sadness;Friendship is treason, and delights are snares;Pleasure's but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness:Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be,Nor have their being when compared with Thee.

Without thy presence, wealth are bags of cares;

Wisdom, but folly; joy, disquiet, sadness;

Friendship is treason, and delights are snares;

Pleasure's but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness:

Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be,

Nor have their being when compared with Thee.

In having all things, and not Thee, what have I?Not having Thee, what have my labors got?Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I?And having Thee alone, what have I not?I wish nor sea nor land; nor would I bePossess'd of heaven, heaven unpossess'd of thee.

In having all things, and not Thee, what have I?

Not having Thee, what have my labors got?

Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I?

And having Thee alone, what have I not?

I wish nor sea nor land; nor would I be

Possess'd of heaven, heaven unpossess'd of thee.

—Francis Quarles.

———

Only for Jesus! Lord, keep it everSealed on the heart, and engraved on the life;Pulse of all gladness, and nerve of endeavor,Secret of rest and the strength of our strife.—Frances Ridley Havergal.

Only for Jesus! Lord, keep it everSealed on the heart, and engraved on the life;Pulse of all gladness, and nerve of endeavor,Secret of rest and the strength of our strife.

Only for Jesus! Lord, keep it ever

Sealed on the heart, and engraved on the life;

Pulse of all gladness, and nerve of endeavor,

Secret of rest and the strength of our strife.

—Frances Ridley Havergal.

———

Since first thy word awaked my heart,Like new life dawning o'er me,Where'er I turn my eyes, Thou artAll light and love before me.Nought else I feel or hear or see,All bonds of earth I sever,Thee, O God, and only thee,I live for now and ever.Like him whose fetters dropped awayWhen light shone o'er his prison,My spirit, touched by mercy's ray,Hath from her chains arisen.And shall a soul Thou bid'st be freeReturn to bondage? Never!Thee, O God, and only thee,I live for now and ever.—Thomas Moore.

Since first thy word awaked my heart,

Like new life dawning o'er me,

Where'er I turn my eyes, Thou art

All light and love before me.

Nought else I feel or hear or see,

All bonds of earth I sever,

Thee, O God, and only thee,

I live for now and ever.

Like him whose fetters dropped awayWhen light shone o'er his prison,My spirit, touched by mercy's ray,Hath from her chains arisen.And shall a soul Thou bid'st be freeReturn to bondage? Never!Thee, O God, and only thee,I live for now and ever.

Like him whose fetters dropped away

When light shone o'er his prison,

My spirit, touched by mercy's ray,

Hath from her chains arisen.

And shall a soul Thou bid'st be free

Return to bondage? Never!

Thee, O God, and only thee,

I live for now and ever.

—Thomas Moore.

———

And now we only ask to serve,We do not ask to rest;We would give all without reserve,Our life, our love, our best.We only ask to see His face,It is enough for us;We only ask the lowest place,So he may smile on us.—Mary E. Townsend.

And now we only ask to serve,We do not ask to rest;We would give all without reserve,Our life, our love, our best.

And now we only ask to serve,

We do not ask to rest;

We would give all without reserve,

Our life, our love, our best.

We only ask to see His face,It is enough for us;We only ask the lowest place,So he may smile on us.

We only ask to see His face,

It is enough for us;

We only ask the lowest place,

So he may smile on us.

—Mary E. Townsend.

———

Unveil, O Lord, and on us shineIn glory and in grace;The gaudy world grows pale beforeThe beauty of thy face.Till Thou art seen, it seems to beA sort of fairy ground,Where suns unsetting light the sky,And flowers and fruits abound,But when Thy keener, purer beamIs poured upon our sight,It loses all its power to charm,And what was day is night.Its noblest toils are then the scourgeWhich made Thy blood to flow;Its joys are but the treacherous thornsWhich circled round thy brow.And thus, when we renounce for TheeIts restless aims and fears,The tender memories of the past,The hopes of coming years,Poor is our sacrifice, whose eyesAre lighted from above;We offer what we cannot keep,What we have ceased to love.—John Henry Newman.

Unveil, O Lord, and on us shineIn glory and in grace;The gaudy world grows pale beforeThe beauty of thy face.

Unveil, O Lord, and on us shine

In glory and in grace;

The gaudy world grows pale before

The beauty of thy face.

Till Thou art seen, it seems to beA sort of fairy ground,Where suns unsetting light the sky,And flowers and fruits abound,

Till Thou art seen, it seems to be

A sort of fairy ground,

Where suns unsetting light the sky,

And flowers and fruits abound,

But when Thy keener, purer beamIs poured upon our sight,It loses all its power to charm,And what was day is night.

But when Thy keener, purer beam

Is poured upon our sight,

It loses all its power to charm,

And what was day is night.

Its noblest toils are then the scourgeWhich made Thy blood to flow;Its joys are but the treacherous thornsWhich circled round thy brow.

Its noblest toils are then the scourge

Which made Thy blood to flow;

Its joys are but the treacherous thorns

Which circled round thy brow.

And thus, when we renounce for TheeIts restless aims and fears,The tender memories of the past,The hopes of coming years,

And thus, when we renounce for Thee

Its restless aims and fears,

The tender memories of the past,

The hopes of coming years,

Poor is our sacrifice, whose eyesAre lighted from above;We offer what we cannot keep,What we have ceased to love.

Poor is our sacrifice, whose eyes

Are lighted from above;

We offer what we cannot keep,

What we have ceased to love.

—John Henry Newman.

———

Saviour, who died for me,I give myself to thee;Thy love, so full, so free,Claims all my powers.Be this my purpose high,To serve Thee till I die,Whether my path shall lie'Mid thorns or flowers.But, Lord, the flesh is weak;Thy gracious aid I seek,For thou the word must speakThat makes me strong.Then let me hear thy voice,Thou art my only choice;O bid my heart rejoice;Be thou my song.May it be joy to meTo follow only Thee;Thy faithful servant be,Thine to the end.For Thee I'll do and dare,For thee the cross I'll bear,To thee direct my prayer,On thee depend.Saviour, with me abide;Be ever near my side;Support, defend, and guide.I look to thee.I lay my hand in thine,And fleeting joys resign,If I may call thee mineEternally.—Mary J. Mason.

Saviour, who died for me,I give myself to thee;Thy love, so full, so free,Claims all my powers.Be this my purpose high,To serve Thee till I die,Whether my path shall lie'Mid thorns or flowers.

Saviour, who died for me,

I give myself to thee;

Thy love, so full, so free,

Claims all my powers.

Be this my purpose high,

To serve Thee till I die,

Whether my path shall lie

'Mid thorns or flowers.

But, Lord, the flesh is weak;Thy gracious aid I seek,For thou the word must speakThat makes me strong.Then let me hear thy voice,Thou art my only choice;O bid my heart rejoice;Be thou my song.

But, Lord, the flesh is weak;

Thy gracious aid I seek,

For thou the word must speak

That makes me strong.

Then let me hear thy voice,

Thou art my only choice;

O bid my heart rejoice;

Be thou my song.

May it be joy to meTo follow only Thee;Thy faithful servant be,Thine to the end.For Thee I'll do and dare,For thee the cross I'll bear,To thee direct my prayer,On thee depend.

May it be joy to me

To follow only Thee;

Thy faithful servant be,

Thine to the end.

For Thee I'll do and dare,

For thee the cross I'll bear,

To thee direct my prayer,

On thee depend.

Saviour, with me abide;Be ever near my side;Support, defend, and guide.I look to thee.I lay my hand in thine,And fleeting joys resign,If I may call thee mineEternally.

Saviour, with me abide;

Be ever near my side;

Support, defend, and guide.

I look to thee.

I lay my hand in thine,

And fleeting joys resign,

If I may call thee mine

Eternally.

—Mary J. Mason.

———

For all the sins that cling to theeLet wide the gates of pardon be;But hope not thou shalt smuggle throughThe little sin thou clingest to.—F. Langbridge.

For all the sins that cling to theeLet wide the gates of pardon be;But hope not thou shalt smuggle throughThe little sin thou clingest to.

For all the sins that cling to thee

Let wide the gates of pardon be;

But hope not thou shalt smuggle through

The little sin thou clingest to.

—F. Langbridge.

———

Do I not love thee, Lord most high,In answer to thy love for me!I seek no other libertyBut that of being bound to Thee.May memory no thought suggestBut shall to thy pure glory tend;May understanding find no restExcept in Thee, its only end.My God, I here protest to TheeNo other will I have than thine;Whatever thou hast given meI here again to Thee resign.All mine is thine, say but the word;Whate'er Thou willest—be it done;I know thy love, all-gracious Lord—I know it seeks my good alone.Apart from Thee all things are naught;Then grant, O my supremest bliss!Grant me to love Thee as I ought;Thou givest all in giving this.—Ignatius Loyola, tr. by Edward Caswall.

Do I not love thee, Lord most high,In answer to thy love for me!I seek no other libertyBut that of being bound to Thee.

Do I not love thee, Lord most high,

In answer to thy love for me!

I seek no other liberty

But that of being bound to Thee.

May memory no thought suggestBut shall to thy pure glory tend;May understanding find no restExcept in Thee, its only end.

May memory no thought suggest

But shall to thy pure glory tend;

May understanding find no rest

Except in Thee, its only end.

My God, I here protest to TheeNo other will I have than thine;Whatever thou hast given meI here again to Thee resign.

My God, I here protest to Thee

No other will I have than thine;

Whatever thou hast given me

I here again to Thee resign.

All mine is thine, say but the word;Whate'er Thou willest—be it done;I know thy love, all-gracious Lord—I know it seeks my good alone.

All mine is thine, say but the word;

Whate'er Thou willest—be it done;

I know thy love, all-gracious Lord—

I know it seeks my good alone.

Apart from Thee all things are naught;Then grant, O my supremest bliss!Grant me to love Thee as I ought;Thou givest all in giving this.

Apart from Thee all things are naught;

Then grant, O my supremest bliss!

Grant me to love Thee as I ought;

Thou givest all in giving this.

—Ignatius Loyola, tr. by Edward Caswall.

———

To me 'tis equal whether love ordainMy life or death, appoint me pain or easeMy soul perceives no real ill in pain,In ease or health no real good she sees.One good she covets, and that good alone,To choose thy will, from selfish bias free;And to prefer a cottage to a throne,And grief to comfort, if it pleases Thee.That we should bear the cross is Thy command,Die to the world and live to self no more;Suffer unmoved beneath the rudest handWhen shipwrecked pleased as when upon the shore.—Madame Guyon, tr. by William Cowper.

To me 'tis equal whether love ordainMy life or death, appoint me pain or easeMy soul perceives no real ill in pain,In ease or health no real good she sees.

To me 'tis equal whether love ordain

My life or death, appoint me pain or ease

My soul perceives no real ill in pain,

In ease or health no real good she sees.

One good she covets, and that good alone,To choose thy will, from selfish bias free;And to prefer a cottage to a throne,And grief to comfort, if it pleases Thee.

One good she covets, and that good alone,

To choose thy will, from selfish bias free;

And to prefer a cottage to a throne,

And grief to comfort, if it pleases Thee.

That we should bear the cross is Thy command,Die to the world and live to self no more;Suffer unmoved beneath the rudest handWhen shipwrecked pleased as when upon the shore.

That we should bear the cross is Thy command,

Die to the world and live to self no more;

Suffer unmoved beneath the rudest hand

When shipwrecked pleased as when upon the shore.

—Madame Guyon, tr. by William Cowper.

———

I preached as never sure to preach again,And as a dying man to dying men.—Richard Baxter.

I preached as never sure to preach again,And as a dying man to dying men.

I preached as never sure to preach again,

And as a dying man to dying men.

—Richard Baxter.

———

Thee will I love, my strength and tower,Thee will I love, my joy and crown,Thee will I love with all my power,In all my works, and Thee alone.Thee will I love, till that pure fireFills my whole soul with strong desire.Give to mine eyes refreshing tears;Give to my heart chaste, hallowed fires;Give to my soul, with filial fearsThe love that all heaven's host inspires;That all my powers, with all their might,In thy sole glory may unite.Thee will I love, my joy, my crown,Thee will I love, my Lord, my God;Thee will I love beneath thy frownOr smile, thy scepter or thy rod;What though my head and flesh decay?Thee shall I love in endless day.—Johann A. Scheffler, tr. by John Wesley.

Thee will I love, my strength and tower,

Thee will I love, my joy and crown,

Thee will I love with all my power,

In all my works, and Thee alone.

Thee will I love, till that pure fire

Fills my whole soul with strong desire.

Give to mine eyes refreshing tears;Give to my heart chaste, hallowed fires;Give to my soul, with filial fearsThe love that all heaven's host inspires;That all my powers, with all their might,In thy sole glory may unite.

Give to mine eyes refreshing tears;

Give to my heart chaste, hallowed fires;

Give to my soul, with filial fears

The love that all heaven's host inspires;

That all my powers, with all their might,

In thy sole glory may unite.

Thee will I love, my joy, my crown,Thee will I love, my Lord, my God;Thee will I love beneath thy frownOr smile, thy scepter or thy rod;What though my head and flesh decay?Thee shall I love in endless day.

Thee will I love, my joy, my crown,

Thee will I love, my Lord, my God;

Thee will I love beneath thy frown

Or smile, thy scepter or thy rod;

What though my head and flesh decay?

Thee shall I love in endless day.

—Johann A. Scheffler, tr. by John Wesley.

———

Dwell deep! The little things that chafe and fret,O waste not golden hours to give them heed!The slight, the thoughtless wrong, do thou forget,Be self-forgot in serving others' need.Thou faith in God through love for man shalt keep.Dwell deep, my soul, dwell deep.Dwell deep! Forego the pleasure if it bringNeglect of duty; consecrate each thought;Believe thou in the good of everything,And trust that all unto the wisest end is wrought.Bring thou this comfort unto all who weep:Dwell deep, my soul, dwell deep.—James Buckham.

Dwell deep! The little things that chafe and fret,

O waste not golden hours to give them heed!

The slight, the thoughtless wrong, do thou forget,

Be self-forgot in serving others' need.

Thou faith in God through love for man shalt keep.

Dwell deep, my soul, dwell deep.

Dwell deep! Forego the pleasure if it bringNeglect of duty; consecrate each thought;Believe thou in the good of everything,And trust that all unto the wisest end is wrought.Bring thou this comfort unto all who weep:Dwell deep, my soul, dwell deep.

Dwell deep! Forego the pleasure if it bring

Neglect of duty; consecrate each thought;

Believe thou in the good of everything,

And trust that all unto the wisest end is wrought.

Bring thou this comfort unto all who weep:

Dwell deep, my soul, dwell deep.

—James Buckham.

———

Out from thyself, thyself depart;God then shall fill thine empty heart;Cast from thy soul life's selfish dream—In flows the Godhead's living stream.—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

Out from thyself, thyself depart;God then shall fill thine empty heart;Cast from thy soul life's selfish dream—In flows the Godhead's living stream.

Out from thyself, thyself depart;

God then shall fill thine empty heart;

Cast from thy soul life's selfish dream—

In flows the Godhead's living stream.

—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,And billows wild contend with angry roar,'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion,That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.Far, far beneath the noise of tempest dieth,And silver waves chime ever peacefully;And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea.So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest,There is a temple peaceful evermore.And all the babble of life's angry voicesDies hushed in stillness at its sacred door.Far, far away the noise of passion dieth,And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully;And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in thee.O rest of rest! O peace serene, eternal!Thou ever livest, and thou changest never;And in the secret of thy presence dwellethFullness of joy, forever and forever.—Harriet Beecher Stowe.

When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,And billows wild contend with angry roar,'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion,That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.

When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,

And billows wild contend with angry roar,

'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion,

That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.

Far, far beneath the noise of tempest dieth,And silver waves chime ever peacefully;And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea.

Far, far beneath the noise of tempest dieth,

And silver waves chime ever peacefully;

And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,

Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea.

So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest,There is a temple peaceful evermore.And all the babble of life's angry voicesDies hushed in stillness at its sacred door.

So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest,

There is a temple peaceful evermore.

And all the babble of life's angry voices

Dies hushed in stillness at its sacred door.

Far, far away the noise of passion dieth,And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully;And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in thee.

Far, far away the noise of passion dieth,

And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully;

And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,

Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in thee.

O rest of rest! O peace serene, eternal!Thou ever livest, and thou changest never;And in the secret of thy presence dwellethFullness of joy, forever and forever.

O rest of rest! O peace serene, eternal!

Thou ever livest, and thou changest never;

And in the secret of thy presence dwelleth

Fullness of joy, forever and forever.

—Harriet Beecher Stowe.

———

Life's burdens fall, its discords cease,I lapse into the glad releaseOf Nature's own exceeding peace.—John Greenleaf Whittier.

Life's burdens fall, its discords cease,I lapse into the glad releaseOf Nature's own exceeding peace.

Life's burdens fall, its discords cease,

I lapse into the glad release

Of Nature's own exceeding peace.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

———

Let nothing make thee sad or fretful,Or too regretful;Be still.What God hath ordered must be right;Then find in it thy own delight,My will!Why shouldst thou fill to-day with sorrowAbout to-morrow,My heart?God watcheth all with care most true;Doubt not that he will give thee tooThy part.—Paul Fleming.

Let nothing make thee sad or fretful,Or too regretful;Be still.What God hath ordered must be right;Then find in it thy own delight,My will!

Let nothing make thee sad or fretful,

Or too regretful;

Be still.

What God hath ordered must be right;

Then find in it thy own delight,

My will!

Why shouldst thou fill to-day with sorrowAbout to-morrow,My heart?God watcheth all with care most true;Doubt not that he will give thee tooThy part.

Why shouldst thou fill to-day with sorrow

About to-morrow,

My heart?

God watcheth all with care most true;

Doubt not that he will give thee too

Thy part.

—Paul Fleming.

———

(Ruth 3. 18.)

Sit still, my child. 'Tis no great thing I ask,No glorious deed, no mighty task;But just to sit and patiently abide.Wait in my presence, in my word confide,"But oh! dear Lord, I long the sword to wield,Forward to go, and in the battle fieldTo fight for thee, thine enemies o'erthrow,And in thy strength to vanquish every foe."The harvest-fields spread out before me lie,The reapers toward me look, and vainly cry—'The field is white, the laborers are few;Our Lord's command is also sent to you,'"My child, it is a sweet and blessed thingTo rest beneath the shadow of my wing;To feel thy doings and thy words are naught,To trust to me each restless, longing thought."Dear Lord, help me this lesson sweet to learn,To sit at thy pierced feet and only yearnTo love thee better, Lord, and feel that stillWaiting is working, if it be thy will."

Sit still, my child. 'Tis no great thing I ask,No glorious deed, no mighty task;But just to sit and patiently abide.Wait in my presence, in my word confide,

Sit still, my child. 'Tis no great thing I ask,

No glorious deed, no mighty task;

But just to sit and patiently abide.

Wait in my presence, in my word confide,

"But oh! dear Lord, I long the sword to wield,Forward to go, and in the battle fieldTo fight for thee, thine enemies o'erthrow,And in thy strength to vanquish every foe.

"But oh! dear Lord, I long the sword to wield,

Forward to go, and in the battle field

To fight for thee, thine enemies o'erthrow,

And in thy strength to vanquish every foe.

"The harvest-fields spread out before me lie,The reapers toward me look, and vainly cry—'The field is white, the laborers are few;Our Lord's command is also sent to you,'"

"The harvest-fields spread out before me lie,

The reapers toward me look, and vainly cry—

'The field is white, the laborers are few;

Our Lord's command is also sent to you,'"

My child, it is a sweet and blessed thingTo rest beneath the shadow of my wing;To feel thy doings and thy words are naught,To trust to me each restless, longing thought.

My child, it is a sweet and blessed thing

To rest beneath the shadow of my wing;

To feel thy doings and thy words are naught,

To trust to me each restless, longing thought.

"Dear Lord, help me this lesson sweet to learn,To sit at thy pierced feet and only yearnTo love thee better, Lord, and feel that stillWaiting is working, if it be thy will."

"Dear Lord, help me this lesson sweet to learn,

To sit at thy pierced feet and only yearn

To love thee better, Lord, and feel that still

Waiting is working, if it be thy will."

———

I have a treasure which I prize;The like I cannot find;There's nothing like it in the earth:It is a quiet mind.But 'tis not that I'm stupefied,Or senseless, dull, or blind:'Tis God's own peace within my soulWhich forms my quiet mind.I found this treasure at the Cross.'Tis there to every kindOf heavy-laden, weary soulsChrist gives a quiet mind.My Saviour's death and risen lifeTo give this were designed;And that's the root and that's the branch,Of this my quiet mind.The love of God within my heartMy heart to his doth bind;This is the mind of heaven on earth;This is my quiet mind.I've many a cross to take up now,And many left behind;But present trials move me not,Nor shake my quiet mind.And what may be to-morrow's crossI never seek to find;My Saviour says, Leave that to Me,And keep a quiet mind.And well I know the Lord hath said,To make my heart resigned,That mercy still shall follow suchAs have this quiet mind.I meet with pride of wit and wealth,And scorn and looks unkind,It matters naught: I envy not,For I've a quiet mind.I'm waiting now to see the Lord,Who's been to me so kind:I want to thank him face to faceFor this my quiet mind.

I have a treasure which I prize;The like I cannot find;There's nothing like it in the earth:It is a quiet mind.

I have a treasure which I prize;

The like I cannot find;

There's nothing like it in the earth:

It is a quiet mind.

But 'tis not that I'm stupefied,Or senseless, dull, or blind:'Tis God's own peace within my soulWhich forms my quiet mind.

But 'tis not that I'm stupefied,

Or senseless, dull, or blind:

'Tis God's own peace within my soul

Which forms my quiet mind.

I found this treasure at the Cross.'Tis there to every kindOf heavy-laden, weary soulsChrist gives a quiet mind.

I found this treasure at the Cross.

'Tis there to every kind

Of heavy-laden, weary souls

Christ gives a quiet mind.

My Saviour's death and risen lifeTo give this were designed;And that's the root and that's the branch,Of this my quiet mind.

My Saviour's death and risen life

To give this were designed;

And that's the root and that's the branch,

Of this my quiet mind.

The love of God within my heartMy heart to his doth bind;This is the mind of heaven on earth;This is my quiet mind.

The love of God within my heart

My heart to his doth bind;

This is the mind of heaven on earth;

This is my quiet mind.

I've many a cross to take up now,And many left behind;But present trials move me not,Nor shake my quiet mind.

I've many a cross to take up now,

And many left behind;

But present trials move me not,

Nor shake my quiet mind.

And what may be to-morrow's crossI never seek to find;My Saviour says, Leave that to Me,And keep a quiet mind.

And what may be to-morrow's cross

I never seek to find;

My Saviour says, Leave that to Me,

And keep a quiet mind.

And well I know the Lord hath said,To make my heart resigned,That mercy still shall follow suchAs have this quiet mind.

And well I know the Lord hath said,

To make my heart resigned,

That mercy still shall follow such

As have this quiet mind.

I meet with pride of wit and wealth,And scorn and looks unkind,It matters naught: I envy not,For I've a quiet mind.

I meet with pride of wit and wealth,

And scorn and looks unkind,

It matters naught: I envy not,

For I've a quiet mind.

I'm waiting now to see the Lord,Who's been to me so kind:I want to thank him face to faceFor this my quiet mind.

I'm waiting now to see the Lord,

Who's been to me so kind:

I want to thank him face to face

For this my quiet mind.

———

My heart is resting, O my God;I will give thanks and sing:My heart is at the secret sourceOf every precious thing.Now the frail vessel Thou hast madeNo hand but thine shall fill—The waters of the earth have failed,And I am thirsty still.I thirst for springs of heavenly life,And here all day they rise;I seek the treasure of Thy love,And close at hand it lies.And a "new song" is in my mouth,To long-loved music set—Glory to Thee for all the graceI have not tasted yet.I have a heritage of joyThat yet I must not see;The hand that bled to make it mineIs keeping it for me.There is a certainty of loveThat sets my heart at rest;A calm assurance for to-dayThat to be poor is best!A prayer reposing on His truth,Who hath made all things mine;That draws my captive will to him,And makes it one with thine.—Anna Letitia Waring.

My heart is resting, O my God;I will give thanks and sing:My heart is at the secret sourceOf every precious thing.

My heart is resting, O my God;

I will give thanks and sing:

My heart is at the secret source

Of every precious thing.

Now the frail vessel Thou hast madeNo hand but thine shall fill—The waters of the earth have failed,And I am thirsty still.

Now the frail vessel Thou hast made

No hand but thine shall fill—

The waters of the earth have failed,

And I am thirsty still.

I thirst for springs of heavenly life,And here all day they rise;I seek the treasure of Thy love,And close at hand it lies.

I thirst for springs of heavenly life,

And here all day they rise;

I seek the treasure of Thy love,

And close at hand it lies.

And a "new song" is in my mouth,To long-loved music set—Glory to Thee for all the graceI have not tasted yet.

And a "new song" is in my mouth,

To long-loved music set—

Glory to Thee for all the grace

I have not tasted yet.

I have a heritage of joyThat yet I must not see;The hand that bled to make it mineIs keeping it for me.

I have a heritage of joy

That yet I must not see;

The hand that bled to make it mine

Is keeping it for me.

There is a certainty of loveThat sets my heart at rest;A calm assurance for to-dayThat to be poor is best!

There is a certainty of love

That sets my heart at rest;

A calm assurance for to-day

That to be poor is best!

A prayer reposing on His truth,Who hath made all things mine;That draws my captive will to him,And makes it one with thine.

A prayer reposing on His truth,

Who hath made all things mine;

That draws my captive will to him,

And makes it one with thine.

—Anna Letitia Waring.

———

Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin?The voice of Jesus whispers Peace within.Peace, perfect peace, by thronging duties pressed?To do the will of Jesus, this is rest.Peace, perfect peace, with sorrow surging round?On Jesus' bosom naught but rest is found.Peace, perfect peace, with loved ones far away?In Jesus' keeping we are safe, and they.Peace, perfect peace, our future all unknown?Jesus we know, and he is on the throne.Peace, perfect peace, death shadowing us and ours?Jesus has vanquished death and all its powers.It is enough: earth's struggles now do cease,And Jesus calls us to heaven's perfect peace.—Edward Henry Bickersteth.

Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin?The voice of Jesus whispers Peace within.

Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin?

The voice of Jesus whispers Peace within.

Peace, perfect peace, by thronging duties pressed?To do the will of Jesus, this is rest.

Peace, perfect peace, by thronging duties pressed?

To do the will of Jesus, this is rest.

Peace, perfect peace, with sorrow surging round?On Jesus' bosom naught but rest is found.

Peace, perfect peace, with sorrow surging round?

On Jesus' bosom naught but rest is found.

Peace, perfect peace, with loved ones far away?In Jesus' keeping we are safe, and they.

Peace, perfect peace, with loved ones far away?

In Jesus' keeping we are safe, and they.

Peace, perfect peace, our future all unknown?Jesus we know, and he is on the throne.

Peace, perfect peace, our future all unknown?

Jesus we know, and he is on the throne.

Peace, perfect peace, death shadowing us and ours?Jesus has vanquished death and all its powers.

Peace, perfect peace, death shadowing us and ours?

Jesus has vanquished death and all its powers.

It is enough: earth's struggles now do cease,And Jesus calls us to heaven's perfect peace.

It is enough: earth's struggles now do cease,

And Jesus calls us to heaven's perfect peace.

—Edward Henry Bickersteth.

———

Like a river glorious is God's perfect peace;Over all victorious in its bright increase;Perfect, yet it floweth fuller every day,Perfect, yet it groweth deeper all the way.Hidden in the hollow of His blessed hand,Never foe can follow, never traitor stand;Not a surge of worry, not a shade of care,Not a blast of hurry touch the spirit there.Every joy or trial falleth from above,Traced upon our dial by the Sun of Love,We may trust him fully, all for us to do;They who trust him wholly find him wholly true.—Frances Ridley Havergal.

Like a river glorious is God's perfect peace;Over all victorious in its bright increase;Perfect, yet it floweth fuller every day,Perfect, yet it groweth deeper all the way.

Like a river glorious is God's perfect peace;

Over all victorious in its bright increase;

Perfect, yet it floweth fuller every day,

Perfect, yet it groweth deeper all the way.

Hidden in the hollow of His blessed hand,Never foe can follow, never traitor stand;Not a surge of worry, not a shade of care,Not a blast of hurry touch the spirit there.

Hidden in the hollow of His blessed hand,

Never foe can follow, never traitor stand;

Not a surge of worry, not a shade of care,

Not a blast of hurry touch the spirit there.

Every joy or trial falleth from above,Traced upon our dial by the Sun of Love,We may trust him fully, all for us to do;They who trust him wholly find him wholly true.

Every joy or trial falleth from above,

Traced upon our dial by the Sun of Love,

We may trust him fully, all for us to do;

They who trust him wholly find him wholly true.

—Frances Ridley Havergal.

———

In heavenly love abiding,No change my heart shall fearAnd safe is such confiding,For nothing changes here.The storm may roar without me,My heart may low be laid,But God is round about me,And can I be dismayed?Whenever he may guide me,No want shall turn me back;My Shepherd is beside me,And nothing can I lack.His wisdom ever waketh,His sight is never dim,He knows the way he taketh,And I will walk with him.Green pastures are before me,Which yet I have not seen;Bright skies will soon be o'er meWhere darkest clouds have been.My hope I cannot measure,My path to life is free,My Saviour has my treasure,And he will walk with me.—Anna Letitia Waring.

In heavenly love abiding,

No change my heart shall fear

And safe is such confiding,

For nothing changes here.

The storm may roar without me,

My heart may low be laid,

But God is round about me,

And can I be dismayed?

Whenever he may guide me,No want shall turn me back;My Shepherd is beside me,And nothing can I lack.His wisdom ever waketh,His sight is never dim,He knows the way he taketh,And I will walk with him.

Whenever he may guide me,

No want shall turn me back;

My Shepherd is beside me,

And nothing can I lack.

His wisdom ever waketh,

His sight is never dim,

He knows the way he taketh,

And I will walk with him.

Green pastures are before me,Which yet I have not seen;Bright skies will soon be o'er meWhere darkest clouds have been.My hope I cannot measure,My path to life is free,My Saviour has my treasure,And he will walk with me.

Green pastures are before me,

Which yet I have not seen;

Bright skies will soon be o'er me

Where darkest clouds have been.

My hope I cannot measure,

My path to life is free,

My Saviour has my treasure,

And he will walk with me.

—Anna Letitia Waring.

———

I stand upon the Mount of GodWith sunlight in my soul;I hear the storms in vales beneath,I hear the thunders roll.But I am calm with thee, my God,Beneath these glorious skies;And to the height on which I stand,No storms, nor clouds, can rise.O,thisis life! O, this is joy!My God, to find thee so;Thy face to see, thy voice to hear,And all thy love to know.—Horatius Bonar.

I stand upon the Mount of GodWith sunlight in my soul;I hear the storms in vales beneath,I hear the thunders roll.

I stand upon the Mount of God

With sunlight in my soul;

I hear the storms in vales beneath,

I hear the thunders roll.

But I am calm with thee, my God,Beneath these glorious skies;And to the height on which I stand,No storms, nor clouds, can rise.

But I am calm with thee, my God,

Beneath these glorious skies;

And to the height on which I stand,

No storms, nor clouds, can rise.

O,thisis life! O, this is joy!My God, to find thee so;Thy face to see, thy voice to hear,And all thy love to know.

O,thisis life! O, this is joy!

My God, to find thee so;

Thy face to see, thy voice to hear,

And all thy love to know.

—Horatius Bonar.

———

Peace upon peace, like wave upon wave,This the portion that I crave;The peace of God which passeth thought,The peace of Christ which changeth not.Peace like the river's gentle flow,Peace like the morning's silent glow,From day to day, in love supplied,An endless and unebbing tide.Peace flowing on without decrease,From him who is our joy and peace,Who, by his reconciling blood,Hath made the sinner's peace with God.Peace through the night and through the day,Peace through the windings of our way;In pain, and toil, and weariness,A deep and everlasting peace.O King of peace, this peace bestowUpon a stranger here below;O God of peace, thy peace impart,To every sad and troubled heart.Peace from the Father and the Son,Peace from the Spirit, all his own;Peace that shall never more be lost,Of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.—Horatius Bonar.

Peace upon peace, like wave upon wave,This the portion that I crave;The peace of God which passeth thought,The peace of Christ which changeth not.

Peace upon peace, like wave upon wave,

This the portion that I crave;

The peace of God which passeth thought,

The peace of Christ which changeth not.

Peace like the river's gentle flow,Peace like the morning's silent glow,From day to day, in love supplied,An endless and unebbing tide.

Peace like the river's gentle flow,

Peace like the morning's silent glow,

From day to day, in love supplied,

An endless and unebbing tide.

Peace flowing on without decrease,From him who is our joy and peace,Who, by his reconciling blood,Hath made the sinner's peace with God.

Peace flowing on without decrease,

From him who is our joy and peace,

Who, by his reconciling blood,

Hath made the sinner's peace with God.

Peace through the night and through the day,Peace through the windings of our way;In pain, and toil, and weariness,A deep and everlasting peace.

Peace through the night and through the day,

Peace through the windings of our way;

In pain, and toil, and weariness,

A deep and everlasting peace.

O King of peace, this peace bestowUpon a stranger here below;O God of peace, thy peace impart,To every sad and troubled heart.

O King of peace, this peace bestow

Upon a stranger here below;

O God of peace, thy peace impart,

To every sad and troubled heart.

Peace from the Father and the Son,Peace from the Spirit, all his own;Peace that shall never more be lost,Of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Peace from the Father and the Son,

Peace from the Spirit, all his own;

Peace that shall never more be lost,

Of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

—Horatius Bonar.

———

Quiet, Lord, my froward heart:Make me teachable and mild;Upright, simple, free from art;Make me as a weanèd child,From distrust and envy free,Pleased with all that pleaseth thee.What thou shalt to-day provideLet me as a child receive;What to-morrow may betideCalmly to thy wisdom leave.'Tis enough that thou wilt care:Why should I the burthen bear?As a little child reliesOn a care beyond his own;Knows he's neither strong nor wise,Fears to stir a step alone;Let me thus with thee abide,As my Father, Guard and Guide.—John Newton.

Quiet, Lord, my froward heart:Make me teachable and mild;Upright, simple, free from art;Make me as a weanèd child,From distrust and envy free,Pleased with all that pleaseth thee.

Quiet, Lord, my froward heart:

Make me teachable and mild;

Upright, simple, free from art;

Make me as a weanèd child,

From distrust and envy free,

Pleased with all that pleaseth thee.

What thou shalt to-day provideLet me as a child receive;What to-morrow may betideCalmly to thy wisdom leave.'Tis enough that thou wilt care:Why should I the burthen bear?

What thou shalt to-day provide

Let me as a child receive;

What to-morrow may betide

Calmly to thy wisdom leave.

'Tis enough that thou wilt care:

Why should I the burthen bear?

As a little child reliesOn a care beyond his own;Knows he's neither strong nor wise,Fears to stir a step alone;Let me thus with thee abide,As my Father, Guard and Guide.

As a little child relies

On a care beyond his own;

Knows he's neither strong nor wise,

Fears to stir a step alone;

Let me thus with thee abide,

As my Father, Guard and Guide.

—John Newton.

———

When, spurred by tasks unceasing or undone,You would seek rest afar,And can not, though repose be rightly won—Rest where you are.Neglect the needless; sanctify the rest;Move without stress or jar;With quiet of a spirit self-possessedRest where you are.Not in event, restriction, or release,Not in scenes near or far,But in ourselves are restlessness or peace,Rest where you are.Where lives the soul lives God; his day, his world,No phantom mists need mar;His starry nights are tents of peace unfurled:Rest where you are.

When, spurred by tasks unceasing or undone,You would seek rest afar,And can not, though repose be rightly won—Rest where you are.

When, spurred by tasks unceasing or undone,

You would seek rest afar,

And can not, though repose be rightly won—

Rest where you are.

Neglect the needless; sanctify the rest;Move without stress or jar;With quiet of a spirit self-possessedRest where you are.

Neglect the needless; sanctify the rest;

Move without stress or jar;

With quiet of a spirit self-possessed

Rest where you are.

Not in event, restriction, or release,Not in scenes near or far,But in ourselves are restlessness or peace,Rest where you are.

Not in event, restriction, or release,

Not in scenes near or far,

But in ourselves are restlessness or peace,

Rest where you are.

Where lives the soul lives God; his day, his world,No phantom mists need mar;His starry nights are tents of peace unfurled:Rest where you are.

Where lives the soul lives God; his day, his world,

No phantom mists need mar;

His starry nights are tents of peace unfurled:

Rest where you are.

———

Be all at rest, my soul toward God; from him comes my salvation. Psa. 62. 1.

"Be all at rest, my soul." Oh! blessed secretOf the true life that glorifies thy Lord:Not always doth the busiest soul best serve him,But he who resteth on his faithful word."Be all at rest."—"let not your heart be rippled,"For tiny wavelets mar the image fairWhich the still pool reflects of heaven's glory—And thus the Image he would have you bear."Be all at rest,"—for rest is highest service;To the still heart God doth his secrets tell:Thus shall thou learn to wait, and watch, and labor,Strengthened to bear, since Christ in thee doth dwell.For what is service but the life of JesusLived through a vessel of earth's fragile clay;Loving and giving; poured forth for others;"A living sacrifice" from day to day?And what shall meet the deep unrest around theeBut the calm peace of God that filled his breast?For still a living voice must call the wearyTo him who said, "Come unto me and rest."Therefore "be all at rest, my soul," toward him,If thou a revelation of the Lord would'st be;For in the quiet confidence that never doubts him,Others his truth and faithfulness shall see."Be all at rest," for rest alone becomethThe soul that casts on him its every care;"Be all at rest"—so shall thy life proclaim himA God who worketh and who heareth prayer."Be all at rest"—so shalt thou be an answerTo those who question, "Who is God, and where?"For God is rest, and where he dwells is stillness,And they who dwell in him that rest shall share.—Freda Hanbury Allen.

"Be all at rest, my soul." Oh! blessed secretOf the true life that glorifies thy Lord:Not always doth the busiest soul best serve him,But he who resteth on his faithful word.

"Be all at rest, my soul." Oh! blessed secret

Of the true life that glorifies thy Lord:

Not always doth the busiest soul best serve him,

But he who resteth on his faithful word.

"Be all at rest."—"let not your heart be rippled,"For tiny wavelets mar the image fairWhich the still pool reflects of heaven's glory—And thus the Image he would have you bear.

"Be all at rest."—"let not your heart be rippled,"

For tiny wavelets mar the image fair

Which the still pool reflects of heaven's glory—

And thus the Image he would have you bear.

"Be all at rest,"—for rest is highest service;To the still heart God doth his secrets tell:Thus shall thou learn to wait, and watch, and labor,Strengthened to bear, since Christ in thee doth dwell.

"Be all at rest,"—for rest is highest service;

To the still heart God doth his secrets tell:

Thus shall thou learn to wait, and watch, and labor,

Strengthened to bear, since Christ in thee doth dwell.

For what is service but the life of JesusLived through a vessel of earth's fragile clay;Loving and giving; poured forth for others;"A living sacrifice" from day to day?

For what is service but the life of Jesus

Lived through a vessel of earth's fragile clay;

Loving and giving; poured forth for others;

"A living sacrifice" from day to day?

And what shall meet the deep unrest around theeBut the calm peace of God that filled his breast?For still a living voice must call the wearyTo him who said, "Come unto me and rest."

And what shall meet the deep unrest around thee

But the calm peace of God that filled his breast?

For still a living voice must call the weary

To him who said, "Come unto me and rest."

Therefore "be all at rest, my soul," toward him,If thou a revelation of the Lord would'st be;For in the quiet confidence that never doubts him,Others his truth and faithfulness shall see.

Therefore "be all at rest, my soul," toward him,

If thou a revelation of the Lord would'st be;

For in the quiet confidence that never doubts him,

Others his truth and faithfulness shall see.

"Be all at rest," for rest alone becomethThe soul that casts on him its every care;"Be all at rest"—so shall thy life proclaim himA God who worketh and who heareth prayer.

"Be all at rest," for rest alone becometh

The soul that casts on him its every care;

"Be all at rest"—so shall thy life proclaim him

A God who worketh and who heareth prayer.

"Be all at rest"—so shalt thou be an answerTo those who question, "Who is God, and where?"For God is rest, and where he dwells is stillness,And they who dwell in him that rest shall share.

"Be all at rest"—so shalt thou be an answer

To those who question, "Who is God, and where?"

For God is rest, and where he dwells is stillness,

And they who dwell in him that rest shall share.

—Freda Hanbury Allen.

———

Sweet is the pleasureItself cannot spoil!Is not true leisureOne with true toil?Thou that wouldst taste it,Still do thy best;Use it, not waste it,Else 'tis no rest.Wouldst behold beautyNear thee all round?Only hath dutySuch a sight found.Rest is not quittingThe busy career;Rest is the fittingOf self to its sphere.'Tis the brook's motion,Clear without strife,Fleeing to oceanAfter its life.Deeper devotionNowhere hath knelt;Fuller emotionHeart never felt.'Tis loving and servingThe Highest and Best!'Tis onwards, unswerving,And that is true rest.—John Sullivan Dwight.

Sweet is the pleasureItself cannot spoil!Is not true leisureOne with true toil?

Sweet is the pleasure

Itself cannot spoil!

Is not true leisure

One with true toil?

Thou that wouldst taste it,Still do thy best;Use it, not waste it,Else 'tis no rest.

Thou that wouldst taste it,

Still do thy best;

Use it, not waste it,

Else 'tis no rest.

Wouldst behold beautyNear thee all round?Only hath dutySuch a sight found.

Wouldst behold beauty

Near thee all round?

Only hath duty

Such a sight found.

Rest is not quittingThe busy career;Rest is the fittingOf self to its sphere.

Rest is not quitting

The busy career;

Rest is the fitting

Of self to its sphere.

'Tis the brook's motion,Clear without strife,Fleeing to oceanAfter its life.

'Tis the brook's motion,

Clear without strife,

Fleeing to ocean

After its life.

Deeper devotionNowhere hath knelt;Fuller emotionHeart never felt.

Deeper devotion

Nowhere hath knelt;

Fuller emotion

Heart never felt.

'Tis loving and servingThe Highest and Best!'Tis onwards, unswerving,And that is true rest.

'Tis loving and serving

The Highest and Best!

'Tis onwards, unswerving,

And that is true rest.

—John Sullivan Dwight.

———

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