Prayer Answered by Crosses. I ASKED the Lord that I might grow In faith, and love, and every grace; Might more of his salvation know, And seek more earnestly his face.
'Twas he who taught me thus to pray, And he, I trust, has answered prayer; But it has been in such a way As almost drove me to despair.
I hoped that in some favoured hour At once he'd answer my request, And by his love's constraining power, Subdue my sins and give me rest.
Instead of this, he made me feel The hidden evils of my heart, And let the angry powers of hell Assault my soul in every part.
Yea, more-with his own hand he seemed Intent to aggravate my woe; Crossed all the fair designs I schemed, Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.
"Lord, why is this?" I trembling cried, "Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?" "Tis in this way," the Lord replied, "I answer prayer for grace and faith.
"These inward trials I employ,
From self and pride to set thee free, And break thy schemes of earthly joy, That thou may'st seek thy all in me."
My God, my Father, while I stray Far from my home, in life's rough way, Oh teach me from my heart to say,
"Thy will be done."
Though dark my path, and sad my lot, Let me "be still" and murmur not; Or breathe the prayer, divinely taught, "Thy will be done."
What though in lonely grief I sigh For friends beloved, no longer nigh? Submissive still I would reply,
If thou shouldst call me to resign
What most I prize, it ne'er was mine:
I only yield thee what was thine;
Should pining sickness waste away
My life in premature decay,
My Father! still I strive to say,
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."
Renew my will from day to day; Blend it with thine, and take away All that now makes it hard to say,
"Thy will be done."
Then, when on earth I breathe no more The prayer half mixed with tears before, I'll sing, upon a happier shore,
I WORSHIP thee, sweet will of God! And all thy ways adore, And every day I live I seem
To love thee more and more.
Thou wert the end, the blessed rule Of Jesu's toils and tears; Thou wert the passion of his heart Those three and thirty years.
And he hath breathed into my soul A special love of thee, A love to lose my will in his, And by that loss be free.
I love to see thee bring to nought The plans of wily men;
When simple hearts outwit the wise, O thou art loveliest then!
The headstrong world, it presses hard Upon the church full oft; And then how easily thou turn'st The hard ways into soft.
I love to kiss each print where thou Hast set thine unseen feet; I cannot fear thee, blessed will! Thine empire is so sweet.
When obstacles and trials seem Like prison-walls to be, I do the little I can do, And leave the rest to thee.
I know not what it is to doubt; My heart is ever gay; I run no risk, for, come what will, Thou always hast thy way.
I have no cares, O blessed will! For all my cares are thine; I live in triumph, Lord! for thou Hast made thy triumphs mine.
And when it seems no chance nor change From grief can set me free, Hope finds its strength in helplessness, And gayly waits on thee.
Man's weakness, waiting upon God, Its end can never miss,
For men on earth no work can do More angel-like than this.
Ride on, ride on triumphantly, Thou glorious will! ride on; Faith's pilgrim sons behind thee take The road that thou hast gone.
He always wins who sides with God, To him no chance is lost; God's will is sweetest to him when It triumphs at his cost.
Ill that he blesses is our good, And unblest good is ill,
And all is right that seems most wrong, If it be his sweet will!
Am I an Israelite indeed, Without a false disguise?
Have I renounced my sins, and left My refuges of lies?
Say, does my heart unchanged remain, Or is it formed anew?
What is the rule by which I walk, The object I pursue?
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