The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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January 25
THE USEFUL LIFE |
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The Prisoner of Love | ||
30
January 25 THE USEFUL LIFE
“It pleased the Lord to bruise him; he hath put him to
grief.”—Isa. liii. 10.
Use me, O Lord, however small
Or perilous the office be;
I am assured that, if I fall,
It can be only upon Thee.
I simply ask to be a tool
Which Thou wilt at Thy duties ply,
Though but a besom in the school
Of Grace which is Humility.
Or perilous the office be;
I am assured that, if I fall,
It can be only upon Thee.
I simply ask to be a tool
Which Thou wilt at Thy duties ply,
Though but a besom in the school
Of Grace which is Humility.
Use me, O Lord, for any toil
That may yet higher lift Thy throne;
And when I labour, let the soil
Be mine, and Thine the praise alone.
I merely want to serve Thy Hand,
In honour or dishonour held—
I care not which—at Thy command,
With every private feeling quell'd.
That may yet higher lift Thy throne;
And when I labour, let the soil
Be mine, and Thine the praise alone.
I merely want to serve Thy Hand,
In honour or dishonour held—
I care not which—at Thy command,
With every private feeling quell'd.
Use me, O Lord, although I creep
Along the meanest track of trust,
Or am Thy Temple mat, or sweep
Thy glorious pathway from the dust.
I would not strike a stirring note,
Nor ever wished 'mid men to shine;
I were content to be a mote,
If this set off Thy rays Divine.
Along the meanest track of trust,
Or am Thy Temple mat, or sweep
Thy glorious pathway from the dust.
I would not strike a stirring note,
Nor ever wished 'mid men to shine;
I were content to be a mote,
If this set off Thy rays Divine.
The Prisoner of Love | ||