 | Last poems including Afterglow and Beyond the sunset |  |
184
THY WILL
When the radiant morning skies
Met my half-awakened eyes;
When I looked abroad to see
Early dew on flower and tree;
When the matin-birds were singing,
And the hills with joy were ringing,
It was easy then to say,
“Lord, thy will be done alway!
Met my half-awakened eyes;
When I looked abroad to see
Early dew on flower and tree;
When the matin-birds were singing,
And the hills with joy were ringing,
It was easy then to say,
“Lord, thy will be done alway!
“If Joy be thy minister,
I will clasp glad hands with her:
If Thou sendest pallid pain,
My strong soul shall not complain:
I will quiet be, nor fret
Though my path with thorns be set:
Patient thread each tangled maze,
Going softly all my days.”
I will clasp glad hands with her:
If Thou sendest pallid pain,
My strong soul shall not complain:
I will quiet be, nor fret
Though my path with thorns be set:
Patient thread each tangled maze,
Going softly all my days.”
185
Youth is confident and wise
In its own unerring eyes,
Solving with unbated breath
Mysteries of life and death;
Challenging both time and fate;
Sure to conquer soon or late;
Discounting all grief and loss,
Sharpest pang, or heaviest cross.
In its own unerring eyes,
Solving with unbated breath
Mysteries of life and death;
Challenging both time and fate;
Sure to conquer soon or late;
Discounting all grief and loss,
Sharpest pang, or heaviest cross.
What knew I of pain or woe
When life wore its early glow,
And in measureless content
Down its sunlit ways I went?
What of grief when I could borrow
From all winds surcease of sorrow?
Lord, thy will and mine were one
When youth sang,—“Thy will be done!”
When life wore its early glow,
And in measureless content
Down its sunlit ways I went?
What of grief when I could borrow
From all winds surcease of sorrow?
Lord, thy will and mine were one
When youth sang,—“Thy will be done!”
Yet,—O Father, Thou art just
To thy children of the dust?
If when hours of darkness come
Strong hearts fail, and lips are dumb,
And our fainting spirits shrink
From some fateful river's brink,
Then teach thou our souls to say,—
“Lord, Thy will be done this day!”
To thy children of the dust?
If when hours of darkness come
Strong hearts fail, and lips are dumb,
186
From some fateful river's brink,
Then teach thou our souls to say,—
“Lord, Thy will be done this day!”
| Last poems including Afterglow and Beyond the sunset | |