GIVING TO GOD
O LORD of heaven, and earth, and sea!
To thee all praise and glory be ;
How shall we show our love to thee,
Who givest all who givest all?
The golden sunshine, vernal air,
Sweet flowers and fruit thy love declare;
When harvests ripen, thou art there,
Who givest all — who givest all.
For peaceful homes and healthful days,
For all the blessings earth displays,
We owe thee thankfulness and praise,
Who givest all-who givest all.
For souls redeem'd, for sins forgiven, For means of grace and hopes of heaven, What can to thee, O Lord! be given,
Who givest all who givest all?
We lose what on ourselves we spend,
We have, as treasures without end,
Whatever, Lord, to thee we lend,
Who givest all- who givest all.
Whatever, Lord, we lend to thee,
Repaid a thousand-fold will be;
Then gladly will we give to thee,
Who givest all-who givest all.
I WAS a wandering sheep,
I did not love the fold;
I did not love my Shepherd's voice,
I would not be controll'd.
I was a wayward child,
I did not love my home,
I did not love my Father's voice,
I lov'd afar to roam.
The Shepherd sought his sheep; The Father sought his child; They follow'd me o'er vale and hill, O'er deserts waste and wild.
They found me nigh to death,
Famish'd, and faint, and lone;
They bound me with the bands of love;
They sav'd the wandering one.
They spoke in tender love,
They rais'd my drooping head;
They gently clos'd my bleeding wounds,
My fainting soul they fed.
They wash'd my filth away,
They made me clean and fair;
They brought me to my home in peace,
The long-sought wanderer.
Smooth let it be, or rough,
It will be still the best;
Winding or straight, it matters not,
Right onward to thy rest.
I dare not choose my lot;
I would not, if I might;
Choose thou for me, my God;
So shall I walk aright.
The kingdom that I seek
Is thine; so let the way
That leads to it be thine,
Else I must surely stray.
Take thou my cup, and it
With joy or sorrow fill,
As best to thee may seem ;
Choose thou my good and ill;
Choose thou for me my friends,
My sickness or my health; Choose thou my cares for me, My poverty or wealth.
Not mine, not mine the choice, In things or great or small; Be thou my guide, my strength, My wisdom, and my all.
"TIS evening now!
O Saviour, wilt not thou
Enter my home and heart,
Nor ever hence depart,
Even when the morning breaks,
And earth again awakes?
Thou wilt abide with me,
And I with thee.
The world is old!
Its air grows dull and cold;
Upon its aged face
The wrinkles come apace;
Its western sky is wan,
Its youth and joy are gone.
O Master, be our light,
When o'er us falls the night.
Evil is round!
Iniquities abound;
Our cottage will be lone
When the great Sun is gone ;
Love, rest, and home!
Sweet hope!
Lord, tarry not, but come.
Beyond the blooming and the fading I shall be soon;
Beyond the shining and the shading, Beyond the hoping and the dreading, I shall be soon.
Beyond the rising and the setting
I shall be soon;
Beyond the calming and the fretting,
Beyond remembering and forgetting,
I shall be soon.
Beyond the gathering and the strowing
I shall be soon;
Beyond the ebbing and the flowing,
Beyond the coming and the going,
I shall be soon.
Beyond the parting and the meeting
I shall be soon;
Beyond the farewell and the greeting,
Beyond this pulse's fever beating,
I shall be soon.
Beyond the frost chain and the fever
I shall be soon;
Beyond the rock waste and the river,
Beyond the ever and the never,
I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home!
Sweet hope!
Lord, tarry not, but come.
John Samuel Bewlep Monsell
feet have wander'd
From the narrow way
Out into the desert,
Gone like sheep astray;
Soil'd and sore with travel
Through the ways of men,
All too weak to bear me
Back to Thee again :
Hear me, 0 Father!
my
From Thy mercy-seat,
Save me by the passion
Of the bleeding feet!
When my hands, unholy
Through some sinful deed
Wrought in me, have freshly
Made my Saviour's bleed :
And I cannot lift up
Mine to Thee in prayer,
Tied and bound, and holden
Back by my despair:
Then, my Father! loose them,
Break for me their bands,
Save me by the passion
Of the bleeding hands!
When my thoughts, unruly,
Dare to doubt of Thee,
And thy ways to question
Deem is to be free:
Till, through cloud and darkness,
Wholly gone astray,
They find no returning
To the narrow way:
Then, my God! mine only
Trust and truth art Thou;
Save me by the passion
Of the bleeding brow!
When my heart, forgetful
Of the love that yet,
Though by man forgotten,
Never can forget;
All its best affections
Spent on things below,
In its sad despondings
Knows not where to go:
Then, my God! mine only
Hope and help Thou art;
Save me by the passion
Of the bleeding heart!
THE WILL OF GOD
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 our Saviour's toils and tears; Thou wert the passion of his heart Those three and thirty years.
And he hath breath'd 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,
Oh, 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 or 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 unbless'd good is ill;
And all is right that seems most wrong,
If it be his sweet will.
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