WILL—WILLING.
Teach me to do thy will; for thou art my God.—Psalm cxliii. 10.
Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.—Matthew, vi. 10.
The world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever.—I. John, ii. 17.
“Thy will be done.” And is’t not ever done?
But, as in heaven, it must be made our own.
His will must all our inclinations sway,
Whom nature, and the universe obey.
Happy the man, whose longings are confined
To what has been eternally designed;
Referring all to His paternal care,
To whom more dear than to ourselves we are!
Waller.
Half mankind maintain a churlish strife
With Him, the Donor of eternal life,
Because the deed, by which His love confirms
The largess He bestows, prescribes the terms.
Compliance with His will your lot ensures,
Accept it only, and the boon is yours.
And sure it is as kind to smile and give,
As with a frown to say, Do this and live.
Cowper.
Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme
These woes of mine fulfil,
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,
Because they are Thy Will!
Then all I want, (O, do Thou grant
This one request of mine,)
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,
Assist me to resign.
Burns.
Lord, I submit. Complete Thy gracious will,
For, if Thou slay me, I will trust Thee still.
O, be my will so swallowed up in Thine,
That I may do Thy will, in doing mine?
Hannah More.
Subdued and instructed, I bow to Thy will;
My hopes and my longings to Thee I resign;
O give me the heart that can wait and be still,
Nor know of a wish or a pleasure but thine!
Sir R. Grant.
My God and Father, while I stray
Far from my home, on life’s rough way,
O teach me from the heart to say,
“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!”
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 mix’d with tears before,
I’ll sing upon a happier shore,
“Thy will be done!”
Elliott.
“O Father! not my will, but Thine be done!”
So spake the Son.
Be this our charm, mellowing earth’s ruder noise
Of griefs and joys—
That we may cling for ever to Thy breast,
In perfect rest!
Keble.
But now, see where He lies
On the cold ground, exposed to thick, dank air,
And all the fury of the maddening skies!
See how each nerve and vein
Trembles and throbs with torture! how His eyes
Start from their seat with anguish and despair!
What drops of sanguine sweat roll down amain
From His fair limbs! “O Father, O remove,
If possible, this cup, yet not My will,
But Thine be done!” O agonizing love!
James Scott.
Perchance he gives his thousands to the poor—
He well may give what he can use no more.
What willing charity! gives, dares he say?
He gives, but not till Heaven has snatched away.
Thomas Ward.
He sendeth sun, He sendeth shower,
Alike they’re needful to 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.
Oh, ne’er will I at life repine,
Enough that Thou hast made it mine.
Where falls the shadow cold of death,
I yet will sing with parting breath,
As comes to me or shade or sun,
Father! Thy will, not mine be done.
Sarah Flower Adams.
It is a short and simple prayer,
But ’tis the Christian’s stay
Through every varied scene of care,
Until his dying day.
As through the wilderness of life
Calmly he wanders on,
His prayer in every time of strife
Is still “Thy will be done!”
Mary Anne Brown.
By scale and method works the Will Supreme,
Nor clouds, nor waves, without a limit stream;
And all the floods that daylight never saw,
The rayless tide of ruin, owns a law.
O’er all confusions marring earth and air,
O’er all the shuddering hours of man’s despair,
Still reigns one fixed decree of peace and love,
And still, though dim below, ’tis bright above.
John Sterling.
Leaning on Him, make with reverent meekness,
His own, thy will;
And with strength from Him shall thy utter weakness
Life’s task fulfil;
And that cloud itself, which now before thee
Lies dark in view,
Shall, with beams of light, for the inner glory,
Be stricken through.
J. G. Whittier.