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“Thy people shall be willing in the day of thy power. – Psalm cx. 3.
SAVIOUR! though my rebellious will
Has been, by thy blest power, renewed;
How much remains to be subdued !
Oft I recall, with grief and shame,
How many years their course had run
Ere I could say, “ Thy will be done !”
I wished a flowery path to tread,
And thought ’t would safely lead to heaven; A lonely room, a suffering bed,
These for my training-place were given.
Long I resisted, mourned, complained,
Wished any other lot my own;
What wisdom planned, love carried on.
Year after year I turned away,
But marred was every scheme I planned ;
Was placed before me, by thy hand.
At length thy patient, wondrous love,
Unchanging, tender, pitying, strong,
Which had rebelled, alas ! so long.
“ Be my whole life in suffering spent,
But let me be in suffering thine ;
“We have need of patience, that after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise.” – HEB. X. 36.
AND is there nothing to be done,
Thus think, 't were better far to die?
Alas! that very thought declares
How much remains unhallowed still ;
Has lost her own in His blest will.
And if His work of grace in me
Were now wellnigh consummated, Contented, willing, should I be
To lie for years on this sick bed.
For then my faith would be so strong,
Would bring my blessed Lord so near, That days, weeks, months, would ne'er seem long,
With such a Friend my couch to cheer.
Full many a sufferer there has seen
Such proofs of His transcendent worth, That e’en their bed of pain has been
To them a little heaven on earth.
O then, my Saviour! be no more
Far from me in my hour of need; Thou canst the fainting soul restore,
And make the feeble strong indeed.
O, grant me now that will resigned,
That patient, weaned, obedient heart, That loving, peaceful, heavenly mind,
Thy Spirit can alone impart.
Let me not languish e'en for home,
One wish, one only wish, be mine! Each hour more holy to become, More fully and entirely Thine !
A $ body when the soul has Aed,
One cup of healing oil and wine,
In true and heaven-born faith we trace
Kind deeds of peace and love betray
Drummond. 1585 – 1649.
Last of the laborers, thy feet I gain,
Lord of the harvest ! and my spirit grieves That I am burdened not so much with grain, · As with a heaviness of heart and brain ;
Master, behold my sheaves !
Few, light, and worthless, — yet their triling weight
Through all my frame a weary aching leaves;
Yet these are all my fheaves.
Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,
Brambles and Aowers, dry stalks, and withered leaves; Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet I kneel down reverently, and repeat,
Master, behold my fheaves !