Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 82

For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead: Lead me aright.

Though strength should falter and though heart should bleed, Through peace to light.

I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed Full radiance here; Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread Without a fear.

I do not ask my cross to understand, My way to see; Better in darkness just to feel thy hand, And follow Thee.

Joy is like restless day; but peace divine Like quiet night.

Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall s.h.i.+ne Through peace to light.

--Adelaide Anne Procter.

ANGELS OF GRIEF

With silence only as their benediction G.o.d's angels come, Where, in the shadow of a great affliction, The soul sits dumb.

Yet would we say, what every heart approveth, Our Father's will, Calling to him the dear ones whom he loveth, Is mercy still.

Not upon us or ours the solemn angel Hath evil wrought; The funeral anthem is a glad evangel-- The good die not!

G.o.d calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly What he has given; They live on earth in thought and deed as truly As in his heaven.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

FURNACE AND HAMMER

Pain's furnace-heat within me quivers, G.o.d's breath upon the flame doth blow; And all my heart in anguish s.h.i.+vers And trembles at the fiery glow; And yet I whisper--"_As G.o.d will!_"

And in his hottest fire stand still.

He comes, and lays my heart, all heated, On the hard anvil, minded so Into his own fair shape to beat it With his great hammer, blow on blow; And yet I whisper--"_As G.o.d will!_"

And at his heaviest blows hold still.

He takes my softened heart and beats it; The sparks fly off at every blow; He turns it o'er and o'er and heats it, And lets it cool, and makes it glow; And yet I whisper--"_As G.o.d will!_"

And in his mighty hand hold still.

Why should I murmur? for the sorrow Thus only longer-lived would be; Its end may come, and will to-morrow, When G.o.d has done his work in me; So I say trusting--"_As G.o.d will!_"

And, trusting to the end, hold still.

--Julius Sturm.

WITH SELF DISSATISFIED

Not when with self dissatisfied, O Lord, I lowly lie, So much I need thy grace to guide, And thy reproving eye,

As when the sound of human praise Grows pleasant to my ear, And in its light my broken ways Fair and complete appear.

By failure and defeat made wise, We come to know, at length, What strength within our weakness lies, What weakness in our strength;

What inward peace is born of strife What power of being spent; What wings unto our upward life Is n.o.ble discontent.

O Lord, we need thy shaming look That burns all low desire; The discipline of thy rebuke Shall be refining fire!

--Frederick Lucian Hosmer.

TOO MUCH SELF

Some evil upon Rabia fell; And one who loved and knew her well Murmured that G.o.d with pain undue Should strike a child so fond and true.

But she replied, "Believe and trust That all I suffer is most just.

I had, in contemplation, striven To realize the joys of heaven; I had extended fancy's flights Through all that region of delights, Had counted, till the numbers failed, The pleasures on the blest entailed.

Had sounded the ecstatic rest I should enjoy on Allah's breast-- And for these thoughts I now atone; They were of something of my own, And were not thoughts of him alone."

--From the Arabian.

THE GAIN OF LOSS

O thou so weary of thy self-denials, And so impatient of thy little cross, Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials, And count all earthly things a gainful loss?

Canst thou forget thy Christian superscription, "Behold, we count them happy which endure"?

What treasure wouldst thou, in the land Egyptian, Repa.s.s the stormy water to secure?

And wilt thou yield thy sure and glorious promise For the poor, fleeting joys earth can afford?

No hand can take away the treasure from us That rests within the keeping of the Lord.

A STRANGE BOON

Oft when of G.o.d we ask For fuller, happier life, He sets us some new task Involving care and strife; Is this the boon for which we sought?

Has prayer new trouble on us brought?

This is indeed the boon, Though strange to us it seems; We pierce the rock, and soon The blessing on us streams; For when we are the most athirst, Then the clear waters on us burst.

We toil as in the field Wherein, to us unknown, A treasure lies concealed Which may be all our own.

And shall we of the toil complain That speedily will bring such gain?

We dig the wells of life, And G.o.d the waters gives; We win our way by strife, Then he within us lives; And only war could make us meet For peace so sacred and so sweet.

--Thomas Toke Lynch.

STILL HOPE! STILL ACT!

Still hope! still act! Be sure that life The source and strength of every good, Wastes down in feeling's empty strife, And dies in dreaming's sickly mood.

To toil in tasks however mean For all we know of right and true-- In this alone our worth is seen, 'Tis this we were ordained to do.