Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 115

Dear friend, he is not gone; G.o.d's angel soon this stone Shall roll aside.

Yea, death shall not abide!

Earth's anguish, too, shall go, O then be strong, my soul!

When sorrows o'er thee roll Be still, and know 'Tis G.o.d's will worketh so.

Dear Lord and G.o.d, incline Thine ear unto my call!

O grant me that in all, This will of mine May still be one with thine!

Teach me to answer still, Whate'er my lot may be, To all thou sendest me, Of good or ill; "All goeth as G.o.d will."

--Alice Williams.

THE SHADOW OF THE GREAT ROCK

Sweet is the solace of thy love, My heavenly Friend, to me, While through the hidden way of faith I journey home with thee, Learning by quiet thankfulness As a dear child to be.

Though from the shadow of thy peace My feet would often stray, Thy mercy follows all my steps, And will not turn away; Yea, thou wilt comfort me at last As none beneath thee may.

No other comforter I need If thou, O Lord, be mine; Thy rod will bring my spirit low, Thy fire my heart refine, And cause me pain that none may feel By other love than thine.

Then in the secret of my soul, Though hosts my peace invade, Though through a waste and weary land My lonely way be made, Thou, even thou, wilt comfort me; I need not be afraid.

O there is nothing in the world To weigh against thy will; Even the dark times I dread the most Thy covenant fulfill; And when the pleasant morning dawns I find thee with me still.

Still in the solitary place I would awhile abide.

Till with the solace of thy love My soul is satisfied, And all my hopes of happiness Stay calmly at thy side.

On thy compa.s.sion I repose In weakness and distress; I will not ask for greater ease Lest I should love thee less, It is a blessed thing for me To need thy tenderness.

--Anna Let.i.tia Waring.

RABIA

There was of old a Moslem saint Named Rabia. On her bed she lay Pale, sick, but uttered no complaint.

"Send for the holy men to pray."

And two were sent. The first drew near: "The prayers of no man are sincere Who does not bow beneath the rod, And bear the chastening strokes of G.o.d."

Whereto the second, more severe: "The prayers of no man are sincere Who does not in the rod rejoice And make the strokes he bears his choice."

Then she, who felt that in such pain The love of self did still remain, Answered, "No prayers can be sincere When they from whose wrung hearts they fall Are not as I am, lying here, Who long since have forgotten all.

Dear Lord of love! There is no pain."

So Rabia, and was well again.

--Edmund Clarence Stedman.

THREE STAGES OF PIETY

Rabia, sick upon her bed, By two saints was visited:

Holy Malik, Ha.s.san wise, Men of mark in Moslem eyes.

Ha.s.san said: "Whose prayer is pure Will G.o.d's chastis.e.m.e.nt _endure_."

Malik, from a deeper sense, Uttered his experience:

"He who loves his Master's choice Will in chastis.e.m.e.nt _rejoice_."

Rabia saw some selfish will In their maxims lingering still,

And replied: "O men of grace!

He who sees his Master's face

"Will not in his prayer recall That he is chastised at all."

--Arabian, tr. by James Freeman Clarke, from the German of Tholuck.

(Rabia was a very holy Arabian woman who lived in the second century of the Hegira, or the eighth century of our era.)

PRAYER'S GRACE

Round holy Rabia's suffering bed The wise men gathered, gazing gravely.

"Daughter of G.o.d!" the youngest said, "Endure thy Father's chastening bravely; They who have steeped their souls in prayer Can any anguish calmly bear."

She answered not, and turned aside, Though not reproachfully nor sadly.

"Daughter of G.o.d!" the eldest cried, "Sustain thy Father's chastening gladly; They who have learned to pray aright From pain's dark well draw up delight."

Then spake she out: "Your words are fair; But, oh, the truth lies deeper still.

I know not, when absorbed in prayer, Pleasure or pain, or good or ill.

They who G.o.d's face can understand Feel not the workings of his hand."

--Monckton Milnes.

I LOVE THY WILL

I love thy will, O G.o.d!

Thy blessed, perfect will, In which this once rebellious heart Lies satisfied and still.

I love thy will, O G.o.d!

It is my joy, my rest; It glorifies my common task, It makes each trial blest.

I love thy will, O G.o.d!

The suns.h.i.+ne or the rain; Some days are bright with praise, and some Sweet with accepted pain.

I love thy will, O G.o.d!

O hear my earnest plea, That as thy will is done in heaven It may be done in me!