Yes, love can lead her victim just at will;
Greater the pain greater he loves her still;
Through thorns and thistles ’till his feet are sore,
She bids him stop; he cries to follow more.
Just as a bird must know the limb’s secure
Before she comes to build on it her nest,
So love will nestle when she finds us true,
Deep in our breast.
Just as we bruise a pear to make it sweet,
So love will bruise her victim with her feet;
It shoves the baby eagle from its nest;
Before it falls her wings go ’neath its breast.
THANKSGIVING PRAYER.
———
Lord God, I turn on this Thanksgiving Day,
To view the path o’er which I’ve made my way,
Although a path of thorns my eye may greet,
Although I feel the sting still in my feet;
Although the harvest fail my barn to fill,
With grateful heart I bow and thank Thee still.
For I am sure what e’er has been my lot,
How meek, how poor is more than I deserve.
Unto Thy will I bow and murmur not.
I’ll not condemn His justice—whom I serve.
I’ll not complain and call Thee, Father, stern.
Because Thy sacred plans I’ve failed to learn;
The cause of all this grief I cannot tell,
And yet, like Job of old, I’ll not rebel.
Lord God, I turn on this Thanksgiving Day,
To view the path o’er which I made my way.
Although a path of thorns my eye may greet,
Although I feel the sting still in my feet,
Although the harvest fail my barn to fill,
With grateful heart I bow and thank Thee still.