Select Poetry.
“THY WILL BE DONE.” yT the scholar and divine Tell us how to pray aright; Let the truths of Gospel shine TPith their precious hallowed light; But the prayer a mother taught Is to me a matchless one: Eloquent and spiritrfraught Are the words, " Thy will he done." Though not fairly understood. Still those words at evening hoar, , Imply some Being great and good. Of mercy, majesty, and power. Bending low on infant knee. And gazing on the setting sun, 1 thought that orb his home must be, When I said, “ Thy will he done." Z have searched the sacred page, I have heard the goodly speech. But the lox’o of saint or sage Nothing holier can teach. Pain has wrung my spirit sore, But my soul the triumph won, When the anguish that I bore Only breathed, “ Thy will be done." They have served in pressing need, Have nerved my heart in every task. And howsoe’er my breast may bleed. No other balm of prayer I ask. When my whitened lips declare Life’s last sands have almost run, — May the dying breath they bear Murmur forth, “ Thy will be done."
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/HBT18660503.2.2
Bibliographic details
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Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 7, Issue 373, 3 May 1866, Page 1
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193Select Poetry. Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 7, Issue 373, 3 May 1866, Page 1
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