He comes, and lays my heart, all heated, On the hard anvil, minded so Into his own fair shape to beat it With his great hammer, blow on blow; And yet I whisper--"_As God will!_" And at his heaviest blows hold still.
He takes my softened heart and beats it; The sparks fly off at every blow; He turns it o'er and o'er and heats it, And lets it cool, and makes it glow; And yet I whisper--"_As God will!_" And in his mighty hand hold still.
Why should I murmur? for the sorrow Thus only longer-lived would be; Its end may come, and will to-morrow, When God has done his work in me; So I say trusting--"_As God will!_" And, trusting to the end, hold still.
Not when with self dissatisfied, O Lord, I lowly lie, So much I need thy grace to guide, And thy reproving eye,
As when the sound of human praise Grows pleasant to my ear, And in its light my broken ways Fair and complete appear.
By failure and defeat made wise, We come to know, at length, What strength within our weakness lies, What weakness in our strength;
What inward peace is born of strife What power of being spent; What wings unto our upward life Is noble discontent.
O Lord, we need thy shaming look That burns all low desire; The discipline of thy rebuke Shall be refining fire!
Some evil upon Rabia fell; And one who loved and knew her well Murmured that God with pain undue Should strike a child so fond and true. But she replied, "Believe and trust That all I suffer is most just. I had, in contemplation, striven To realize the joys of heaven; I had extended fancy's flights Through all that region of delights, Had counted, till the numbers failed, The pleasures on the blest entailed. Had sounded the ecstatic rest I should enjoy on Allah's breast-- And for these thoughts I now atone; They were of something of my own, And were not thoughts of him alone."
O thou so weary of thy self-denials, And so impatient of thy little cross, Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials, And count all earthly things a gainful loss?
Canst thou forget thy Christian superscription, "Behold, we count them happy which endure"? What treasure wouldst thou, in the land Egyptian, Repass the stormy water to secure?
And wilt thou yield thy sure and glorious promise For the poor, fleeting joys earth can afford? No hand can take away the treasure from us That rests within the keeping of the Lord.