Of worldly wealth, nor vision that sees o'er
Such sordid mass, mind's plumèd eagles soar.
Not even, Lord, for love that eases stress
Of storm, contention, hope's unconquerableness,
Nor faith's abiding peace, nor works that bless.
But this, dear Lord, stir inner depths divine,
That day by day, though slowly! line on line
My will begins—begins—to merge in thine.
—Charles L. Story.
———