Poems (Argent)/De Profundis
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For works with similar titles, see De Profundis.
DE PROFUNDIS.
LORD! if it be Thy will that she must die,
She whom to me is as the radiant sun,
The one pure spot of azure in my sky,
Help me to say, "Thy will, not mine, be done."
She whom to me is as the radiant sun,
The one pure spot of azure in my sky,
Help me to say, "Thy will, not mine, be done."
Teach me to bless the hand that holds the rod,
To bow my head as meekly as I may,
Help me to see the right is Thine, O God,
To give or keep, to grant or take away.
To bow my head as meekly as I may,
Help me to see the right is Thine, O God,
To give or keep, to grant or take away.
Affection's cup is to the utmost rim
O'erfull with tears, that ever fall and start
From grief that sobs a sacrificial hymn
Writ from the life-blood of a human heart.
O'erfull with tears, that ever fall and start
From grief that sobs a sacrificial hymn
Writ from the life-blood of a human heart.
But He who drank it 'neath the shadowing cross,
In that still garden of Gethsemane,
Will help me bear the weight of coming loss
In this mine hour of speechless agony.
In that still garden of Gethsemane,
Will help me bear the weight of coming loss
In this mine hour of speechless agony.
Lord! if it be Thy will that she must die,
Ne'er would I murmur, for the love of One
Who suffered more than mortal agony,
Yet meekly prayed, "Thy will, not mine be done."
Ne'er would I murmur, for the love of One
Who suffered more than mortal agony,
Yet meekly prayed, "Thy will, not mine be done."