One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads Original, and suitable for music [by Jean Ingelow] |
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[Emptied of good, with many cares oppress'd] |
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 | One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads |  |
69
[Emptied of good, with many cares oppress'd]
Emptied of good, with many cares oppress'd,
Full oft I long to cast them on Thy breast;
But not that I may lose them, Love Divine,
O rather craving Thou wouldst count them Thine.
Full oft I long to cast them on Thy breast;
But not that I may lose them, Love Divine,
O rather craving Thou wouldst count them Thine.
They are not cares for my poor wants nor loss;
Their sorrows—whom I love—are my worse cross:
Do as Thou wilt with me, all shall me please,
Only be gracious, Perfect Love, to these
Their sorrows—whom I love—are my worse cross:
Do as Thou wilt with me, all shall me please,
Only be gracious, Perfect Love, to these
Whose souls I thus present before Thy Throne.
It is not hard to trust Thee with mine own—
But these—they mourn for griefs, they may not flee,
And I can tell them, Lord, to none but Thee.
It is not hard to trust Thee with mine own—
But these—they mourn for griefs, they may not flee,
And I can tell them, Lord, to none but Thee.
O might I pray, “Do Thou as I would do
For those I love—were my love strong as true.”
But who may ask Thee thus, though long withstood,
He mourneth after God and after good?
For those I love—were my love strong as true.”
But who may ask Thee thus, though long withstood,
He mourneth after God and after good?
“As I would do.” Ah! now methinks I hear
Thy comforting, kind voice, my Lord, most dear;
I feel Thy grace, Thy sweetness on me shine—
Poor is my treasure-store of love to Thine.
Thy comforting, kind voice, my Lord, most dear;
I feel Thy grace, Thy sweetness on me shine—
Poor is my treasure-store of love to Thine.
What wouldst thou have me learn?—my trust, my all;
I call down blessings—grief and trouble fall—
And yet Thy heavenly whisper teacheth me
Love is of God, and mine is born of Thee.
I call down blessings—grief and trouble fall—
And yet Thy heavenly whisper teacheth me
Love is of God, and mine is born of Thee.
70
There is but one love, and its will is one;
But Thy love seeth all things—my love none.
Mine eyes are held, for so, and only so,
My love would cast their lot, if I might know.
But Thy love seeth all things—my love none.
Mine eyes are held, for so, and only so,
My love would cast their lot, if I might know.
Then take, Lord, on Thyself my load of care,
Kind to my fear, and gentle with my prayer;
With these it shall be well, my rest is won,
Because Thou lov'st them most—Thy will be done.
Kind to my fear, and gentle with my prayer;
With these it shall be well, my rest is won,
Because Thou lov'st them most—Thy will be done.
| One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads | |