What though in lonely grief I sigh
For friends beloved no longer nigh,
Submissive still would I reply,
"Thy will be done!"
If Thou shouldst call me to resign
What most I prize, it ne'er was mine,—
I only yield Thee what was Thine:
"Thy will be done!"
Should pining sickness waste away
My life in premature decay,
My Father, still I'll strive to say,
"Thy will be done!
If but my fainting heart be blest
With Thy Spirit for its guest,
My God, to Thee I leave the rest:
"Thy will be done!"
Renew my will from day to day;
Blend it with Thine, and take away
All that now makes it hard to say,
"Thy will be done!"
Then when on earth I breathe no more
The prayer oft mixed with tears before,
I'll sing upon a happier shore,
ONG in this wild, wild country,
Where rue and nightshade grow,
Where waters black and bitter
All fairest meads o'erflow;
Where from the heart all broken
Floats forth a wailing cry,
And days are dark and dreary,
And years drift sadly by;
Where skies are gray and stormy,
And mountains, bleak and cold,
Look down on wintry ocean,
On barren heath and wold,
Long in this sinful country
I've wandered poor and lone,
To every illness subject,
To every weakness prone.
Now, standing on the headlands,
I greet the coming dawn;
Mine eyes drink in the glory
Of the approaching morn.
I see my dear-loved Saviour
Clad in the purest white;
And sky and earth and headland
Are bathed in golden light.
The songs of raptured angels,
And her sweet voice I hear;
The murmur of the Eternal Sea
Floats downward to my ear.
This earth is fading from me;
No more the wild winds sigh;
No more the days, all dreary,
Go drifting sadly by.
But, watching my Lord's coming,
With loving, trusting faith,
I fold my hands so weary-
And calmly wait for death.
O, blessed, blessed country!
No pains, nor bitter tears;
No fainting 'neath the burden,
No doubts, no cruel fears.
O, bright, unchanging glory!
O, radiant array!
O, sweet and dream-like music!
O, cloudless, endless day!
PERUSALEM the glorious!
The glory of the Elect!
O, dear and future vision
That eager hearts expect!
Even now by faith I see thee,
Even here thy walls discern;
To Thee my thoughts are kindled,
And strive, and pant, and yearn.
Jerusalem the only,
That look'st from heaven below,
In thee is all my glory,
In me is all my woe;
And though my body may not,
My spirit seeks thee fain,
Till flesh and earth return me
To earth and flesh again.
O, none can tell thy bulwarks,
How gloriously they rise!
O, none can tell thy capitals
Of beautiful device!
Thy loveliness oppresses
All human thought and heart;
And none, O peace, O Syon,
Can sing thee as thou art!
There nothing can be feeble,
There none can ever mourn,
There nothing is divided,
There nothing can be torn.
'Tis fury, ill, and scandal,
'Tis peaceless peace below;
Peace, endless, strifeless, ageless,
The halls of Syon know.
That peace-but who may claim it?
The guileless in their way,
Who keep the ranks of battle,
Who mean the thing they say -
The peace that is for heaven,
And shall be for the earth;
The palace that reëchoes.
With festal song and mirth.
O, happy, holy portion,
Reflection for the blest,
True vision of sweet beauty,
Sweet cure of all distrest!
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