Without thy presence, wealth is bags of cares;
Wisdom but folly; joy, disquiet—sadness;
Friendship is treason, and delights are snares;
Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness;
Without thee, Lord, things be not what they be,
Nor have their being, when compared with thee.
In having all things, and not thee, what have I?
Not having thee, what have my labors got?
Let me enjoy but thee, what further crave I?
And having thee alone, what have I not?
I wish nor sea nor land; nor would I be
Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of thee!
FRANCIS QUARLES.
* * * * *
THE WILL OF GOD.
I worship thee, sweet will of God!
And all thy ways adore;
And every day I live, I seem
To love thee more and more.
Thou wert the end, the blessèd rule
Of our Saviour's toils and tears;
Thou wert the passion of his heart
Those three and thirty years.
And he hath breathed into my soul
A special love of thee,
A love to lose my will in his,
And by that loss be free.
I love to see thee bring to naught
The plans of wily men;
When simple hearts outwit the wise,
Oh, thou art loveliest then.
The headstrong world it presses hard
Upon the church full oft,
And then how easily thou turn'st
The hard ways into soft.