A memorial volume of sacred poetry by the late Sir John Bowring. To which is prefixed, a memoir of the author, by Lady Bowring |
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My Times are in Thy Hand.
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 | A memorial volume of sacred poetry |  |
My Times are in Thy Hand.
My times are in Thy hand, and Thou
Wilt guide my footsteps at Thy will:
Lord! to Thy purposes I bow,
Do Thou Thy purposes fulfil!
Wilt guide my footsteps at Thy will:
Lord! to Thy purposes I bow,
Do Thou Thy purposes fulfil!
Life's mighty waters roll along;
Thy spirit guides them as they roll:
And waves on waves impetuous throng
At thy command, at Thy control.
Thy spirit guides them as they roll:
And waves on waves impetuous throng
At thy command, at Thy control.
We, in the giant stream, are less
Than dew-drops rising o'er the sea—
A viewless blank of nothingness
Amidst a vast infinity.
Than dew-drops rising o'er the sea—
A viewless blank of nothingness
Amidst a vast infinity.
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Yet in that orbit while we move
Where beams Thy radiance; while we share
In the sweet sunshine of thy love,
We feel that we are something here:
Where beams Thy radiance; while we share
In the sweet sunshine of thy love,
We feel that we are something here:
And, thus encouraged, look to Thee,
And with a humbled, prostrate will,
Lord! in Thy all-sufficiency
Would find a claim to love Thee still.
And with a humbled, prostrate will,
Lord! in Thy all-sufficiency
Would find a claim to love Thee still.
| A memorial volume of sacred poetry | |