Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 113

THE TWO ANGELS

All is of G.o.d! If he but wave his hand, The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud, Till, with a smile of light on sea and land, Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud.

Angels of Life and Death alike are his; Without his leave they pa.s.s no threshold o'er; Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this, Against his messengers to shut the door?

--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

AMEN!

I cannot say, Beneath the pressure of life's cares to-day, I joy in these; But I can say That I had rather walk this rugged way, If _Him_ it please.

I cannot feel That all is well when darkening clouds conceal The s.h.i.+ning sun; But then I know G.o.d lives and loves, and say, since it is so, _Thy will be done_.

I cannot speak In happy tones; the tear-drops on my cheek Show I am sad: But I can speak Of _grace_ to suffer with submission meek Until made glad.

I do not see Why G.o.d should e'en permit some things to be, When _He is love_; But I can see, Though often dimly, through the mystery His hand above!

I do not know Where falls the seed that I have tried to sow With greatest care; But I _shall know_ The meaning of each waiting hour below _Sometime, somewhere_!

I do not look Upon the present, nor in Nature's book, To read my fate; But I _do look_ For _promised blessings_ in G.o.d's holy Book; And _I can wait_.

I may not try To keep the hot tears back--but hush that sigh, "It might have been"; And try to still Each rising murmur, and to _G.o.d's sweet will_ Respond "_Amen!_"

--Miss Ophelia G. Browning.

AS HE WILLS

He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower, Alike they're needful for the flower; And joys and tears alike are sent To give the soul fit nourishment.

As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father! thy will, not mine, be done.

Can loving children e'er reprove, With murmurs, whom they trust and love?

Creator! I would ever be A trusting, loving child to thee: As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father! thy will, not mine, be done.

O ne'er will I at life repine-- Enough that thou hast made it mine; When falls the shadow cold of death I yet will sing with parting breath, As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father! thy will, not mine, be done.

--Sarah Flower Adams.

ACCORDING TO THY WILL

If I were told that I must die to-morrow, That the next sun Which sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrow For any one, All the fight fought, all the short journey through, What should I do?

I do not think that I should shrink or falter, But just go on Doing my work, nor change nor seek to alter Aught that is gone; But rise, and move, and love, and smile, and pray For one more day.

And lying down at night, for a last sleeping, Say in that ear Which harkens ever, "Lord, within thy keeping, How should I fear?

And when to-morrow brings thee nearer still, Do thou thy will."

I might not sleep for awe; but peaceful, tender, My soul would lie All night long; and when the morning splendor Flashed o'er the sky, I think that I could smile--could calmly say, "It is his day."

But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonder Held out a scroll On which my life was writ, and I with wonder Beheld unroll To a long century's end its mystic clew-- What should I do?

What could I do, O blessed Guide and Master!

Other than this, Still to go on as now, not slower, faster, Nor fear to miss The road, although so very long it be, While led by thee?

Step by step, feeling thee close beside me, Although unseen; Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tempest hide thee Or heavens serene, a.s.sured thy faithfulness cannot betray, Thy love decay.

I may not know, my G.o.d; no hand revealeth Thy counsels wise; Along the path no deepening shadow stealeth; No voice replies To all my questioning thought the time to tell, And it is well.

Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing Thy will always; Through a long century's ripe fruition Or a short day's; Thou canst not come too soon; and I can wait If thou come late!

--Susan Coolidge.

G.o.d's in his heaven, All's right with the world.

--Robert Browning.

WHAT PLEASETH G.o.d

What pleaseth G.o.d with joy receive; Though storm-winds rage and billows heave And earth's foundations all be rent, Be comforted; to thee is sent What pleaseth G.o.d.

G.o.d's will is best; to this resigned, How sweetly rests the weary mind!

Seek, then, this blessed conformity, Desiring but to do and be What pleaseth G.o.d.

G.o.d's thoughts are wisest; human schemes Are vain delusions, idle dreams; Our purposes are frail and weak; With earthly mind we seldom seek What pleaseth G.o.d.

G.o.d is the holiest; and his ways Are full of kindness, truth, and grace; His blessing crowns our earnest prayer, While worldlings scorn, and little care What pleaseth G.o.d.

G.o.d's is the truest heart; his love Nor time, nor life, nor death, can move; To those his mercies daily flow, Whose chief concern it is to know What pleaseth G.o.d.

Omnipotent he reigns on high And watcheth o'er thy destiny; While sea, and earth, and air produce For daily pleasure, daily use, What pleaseth G.o.d.

He loves his sheep, and when they stray He leads them back to wisdom's way; Their faithless, wandering hearts to turn, Gently chastising, till they learn What pleaseth G.o.d.

He knows our every need, and grants A rich supply to all our wants; No good withholds from those whose mind Is bent with earnest zeal to find What pleaseth G.o.d.

Then let the world, with stubborn will, Its earthborn pleasures follow still; Be this, my soul, thy constant aim, Thy riches, honor, glory, fame, What pleaseth G.o.d.

Should care and grief thy portion be, To thy strong refuge ever flee; For all his creatures but perform, In peace and tumult, calm and storm, What pleaseth G.o.d.

Faith lays her hand on G.o.d's rich grace, And hope gives patience for the race; These virtues in thy heart enshrined, Thy portion thou wilt surely find, What pleaseth G.o.d.

In heaven thy glorious portion is; There is thy throne, thy crown, thy bliss; There shalt thou taste, and hear, and see, There shalt thou ever do and be, What pleaseth G.o.d.

--Paul Gerhardt.