Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 72

ANSWER TO PRAYER

Man's plea to man is, that he nevermore Will beg, and that he never begged before; Man's plea to G.o.d is, that he did obtain A former suit, and therefore sues again.

How good a G.o.d we serve, that, when we sue, Makes his old gifts examples of his new.

--Francis Quarles.

TALHAIRN'S PRAYER

Grant me, O G.o.d, thy merciful protection; And, in protection, give me strength, I pray; And, in my strength, O grant me wise discretion; And, in discretion, make me ever just; And, with my justice, may I mingle love, And, with my love, O G.o.d, the love of thee; And, with the love of thee, the love of all.

--From the Welsh.

O sad estate Of human wretchedness! so weak is man, So ignorant and blind, that did not G.o.d Sometimes withhold in mercy what we ask, We should be ruined at our own request.

--Hannah More.

Why win we not at once what we in prayer require?

That we may learn great things as greatly to desire.

--Richard Chenevix Trench.

JOY

PRAISE, CHEERFULNESS, HAPPINESS

THE SECRET OF A HAPPY DAY

Just to let thy Father do What he will; Just to know that he is true And be still.

Just to follow hour by hour As He leadeth; Just to draw the moment's power As it needeth.

Just to trust Him, this is all!

Then the day will surely be Peaceful, whatsoe'er befall, Bright and blessed, calm and free.

Just to let Him speak to thee Through his word, Watching that his voice may be Clearly heard.

Just to tell Him every thing As it rises, And at once to him to bring All surprises.

Just to listen, and to stay Where you cannot miss His voice, This is all! and thus to-day, Communing, you shall rejoice.

Just to ask Him what to do All the day, And to make you quick and true To obey.

Just to know the needed grace He bestoweth, Every bar of time and place Overfloweth.

Just to take thy orders straight From the Master's own command.

Blessed day! when thus we wait Always at our Sovereign's hand.

Just to recollect his love, Always true; Always s.h.i.+ning from above, Always new.

Just to recognize its light, All-enfolding; Just to claim its present might, All-upholding.

Just to know it as thine own, That no power can take away; Is not this enough alone For the gladness of the day?

Just to trust, and yet to ask Guidance still; Take the training or the task As He will.

Just to take the joy or pain As He lends it; Just to take the loss or gain As he sends it He who formed thee for his praise Will not miss the gracious aim; So to-day, and all thy days, Shall be molded for the same.

Just to leave in His dear hand _Little_ things; All we cannot understand, All that stings.

Just to let Him take the care Sorely pressing, Finding all we let him bear Changed to blessing.

This is all! and yet the way Marked by Him who loves thee best; Secret of a happy day, Secret of his promised rest.

--Frances Ridley Havergal.

G.o.d MEANS US TO BE HAPPY

G.o.d means us to be happy; He fills the short-lived years With loving, tender mercies-- With smiles as well as tears.

Flowers blossom by the pathway, Or, withering, they shed Their sweetest fragrance over The bosoms of our dead.

G.o.d filled the earth with beauty; He touched the hills with light; He crowned the waving forest With living verdure bright; He taught the bird its carol, He gave the wind its voice, And to the smallest insect Its moment to rejoice.

What life hath not its blessing?

Who hath not songs to sing, Or grateful words to utter, Or wealth of love to bring?

Tried in affliction's furnace The gold becomes more pure-- So strong doth sorrow make us, So patient to endure.

No way is dark and dreary If G.o.d be with us there; No danger can befall us When sheltered by his care.

Why should our eyes be blinded To all earth's glorious bloom?

Why sit we in the shadow That falls upon the tomb?

Look up and catch the sunbeams!

See how the day doth dawn!

Gather the scented roses That grow beside the thorn!

G.o.d's pitying love doth seek us; He leads us to his rest; And from a thousand pathways He chooses what is best.

THE PICTURE OF A HAPPY MAN

How blest is he, though ever crossed, That can all crosses blessings make; That finds himself ere he be lost, And lose that found for virtue's sake.

Yea, blest is he, in life and death, That fears not death nor loves this life; That sets his will his wit beneath; And hath continual peace in strife.

That naught observes but what preserves His mind and body from offense; That neither courts nor seasons serves, And learns without experience.

That loves his body for his soul, Soul for his mind, his mind for G.o.d, G.o.d for himself, and doth control Content, if it with him be odd.

That rests in action, acting naught But what is good in deed and show; That seeks but G.o.d within his thought, And thinks but G.o.d to love and know.

That lives too low for envy's looks, And yet too high for loathed contempt; That makes his friends good men and books And naught without them doth attempt.

That ever lives a light to all, Though oft obscured like the sun; And, though his fortunes be but small, Yet Fortune doth not seek nor shun.