THY WILL, NOT MNIE. 177
��" THY WILL, NOT MINE."
��BY EVERETT PAYSON SMYTH.
The erring youth to pray is taught,
Ere scarce begun Is life, that, older growing, naught
But strength is won ; Yet, blindly groping for the light, Bedim so many clouds the sight, That prays he only wheu 'tis bright
"Thy will be done."
Calmly a man the wreck surveys
Of his dear home ; With swelling soul his God to praise
He seeks the dome : Will other gods the ashen waste Disturb, and rule a mind so chaste? By fire purified that taste
No more shall roam !
Silent the aged mother weeps —
The last has flown ; Yet she a faithful watchword keeps
And prays alone. Prays for the wild and wayward one, Prays for another straying son — She ever prays " Thy will be done,
Thy blood atone ! "
With glowing zeal to God,we go
In daily prayer. In faith, sometimes, on Him we throw
All grief, all care. How small that faith is, in the knell Of death is pictured, as the fell Destroyer, at the mouth of hell
Awaits with snare !
��Manchester, N. H., Sept. 6, 1877.
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