My God, I thank Thee who hast made
The Earth so bright;
So full of splendor and of joy,
Beauty and light;
So many glorious things are here,
Noble and right!
I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made
Joy to abound:
So many gentle thoughts and deeds
Circling us round,
That in the darkest spot of Earth
Some love is found.
I thank Thee _more_ than all our joy
Is touched with pain;
That shadows fall on brightest hours;
That thorns remain;
So that Earth's bliss may be our guide,
And not our chain.
For Thou who knowest, Lord, how soon
Our weak heart clings,
Hast given us joys, tender and true,
Yet all with wings,
So that we see, gleaming on high,
Diviner things!
I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept
The best in store;
We have enough, yet, not too much
To long for more:
A yearning for a deeper peace,
Not known before.
I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls,
Though amply blest,
Can never find, although they seek,
A perfect rest,--
Nor ever shall, until they lean
On Jesus' breast!
--_Adelaide Procter._
Does the Gospel word proclaim
Rest for those that weary be?
Then, my soul put in thy claim--
Sure that promise speaks to thee!
Marks of grace I cannot show,
All polluted is my best;
But I weary am, I know,
And the weary long for rest.
Burdened with a load of sin,
Harassed with tormenting doubt,
Hourly conflicts from within,
Hourly crosses from without;--
All my little strength is gone,
Sink I must without supply;
Sure upon the earth is none
Can more weary be than I.
In the ark the weary dove
Found a welcome resting-place;
Thus my spirit longs to prove
Rest in Christ, the Ark of grace.
Tempest-tossed I long have been,
And the flood increases fast;
Open, Lord, and take me in,
Till the storm be overpast!
--_Newton._
My God, my Father, while I stray
Far from my home on life's rough way,
Oh, teach me from my heart to say,
"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"
What though in love or grief I sigh
For friends beloved no longer nigh;
Submissive still would I reply,
"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"
If thou shouldst call me to resign
What most I prize,--it ne'er was mine;
I only yield thee what was Thine:
"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"
If but my fainting heart be blest
With Thy sweet Spirit for its guest,
My God, to Thee I leave the rest;
"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"
--_C. Elliott._