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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Every Thing derived from God.
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 | A memorial volume of sacred poetry |  |
Every Thing derived from God.
If I aught possess, 'tis Thine;
All I have, to Thee I owe;
Dare I call my being mine?
Life, or breath, or comfort? No!
Lord! I dedicate to Thee
All that Thou hast given to me.
All I have, to Thee I owe;
Dare I call my being mine?
Life, or breath, or comfort? No!
Lord! I dedicate to Thee
All that Thou hast given to me.
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Wilt Thou be my Father yet,
Kind as Thou hast ever been?
And canst Thou thy child forget,
Wandering through this twilight scene?
Never! O how sweet to rest
On Thee, kindest, wisest, best!
Kind as Thou hast ever been?
And canst Thou thy child forget,
Wandering through this twilight scene?
Never! O how sweet to rest
On Thee, kindest, wisest, best!
Should my heart a moment fail,
Should my steps a moment stray,
Travelling through this tearful vale,—
Guide me to my wonted way,
To the way that leads me on
To Thy glory, to Thy throne.
Should my steps a moment stray,
Travelling through this tearful vale,—
Guide me to my wonted way,
To the way that leads me on
To Thy glory, to Thy throne.
| A memorial volume of sacred poetry | |