Only to-day is mine,
And that I owe to Thee;
Help me to make it thine;
As pure as it may be;
Let it see something done,
Let it see something won,
Then at the setting sun
I'll give it back to thee.
What if I cannot tell
The cares the day may bring?
I know that I shall dwell
Beneath Thy sheltering wing;
And there the load is light;
And there the dark is bright,
And weakness turns to might,
And so I trust and sing.
What shall I ask to-day?
Naught but Thine own sweet will;
The windings of the way
Lead to thy holy hill;
And whether here or there
Why should I fear or care?
Thy heavens are everywhere,
And they are o'er me still.
Give me Thyself to-day,
I dare not walk alone;
Speak to me by the way,
And "all things are my own";
The treasures of thy grace,
The secret hiding place,
The vision of thy face,
The shadow of thy throne!
--Henry Burton.