At School (The Disciple)

(The Saviour of the World, Vol II Book III Poem XXXIX)

Saviour ! Thou will’st me poor,—

Haughty and rich am I;

In self-dependence rich,

Presuming, hard and high:—

Faith, looking on the coming years, doth see

Dark faults, sore failures, let to humble me.—

Thy will be done!

A mourner must I be:

And holy messengers

Oft have Thy presence left

To bring me blessed tears:

Too soon they fail, and sin’s hot breath sweeps by:

Then wilt Thou take the spot, and show it me

Till, weeping, fain I turn to hide in Thee:

Thy will be done!

Meek wouldst Thou have Thy child:—

How little can I bear!

How seldom wait for Thee,

Quiet within Thy care!

Tho’ through provokings, teach me to endure;

Bid errors make me of myself less sure:

Thy will be done!

A hungering thirsting one

Must Thy disciple be;

And I so full! grown fat

On Thy gifts, leaving Thee!

But Thou wilt teach me want, or take away

All lesser food, till Thou, my only stay!

Thy will be done!

Merciful as Thou art!

O, how harsh judgments rise!

O this censorious tongue,

Evil discerning eyes!—

Yet His sweet mercy will my King impart,

If by no other way, e’en through the smart

Of pity withheld in my extremities:

Thy will be done!

Pure, e’en in Thy pure eyes!

Single and free from guile;

O when shall these vain thoughts

Pure rising, meet Thy smile?

E’en this though Christ is mine; though it should be

That first, through purging fires, Thou go with me.

Thy will be done!

Ruled by the Prince of Peace.

How far from this my state;

Oft striving for my own,

Exacting, harsh, irate!

No peace is found in me; but Thou wilt come

And make this chafing bosom Thy sweet home:—

Thy will be done!

Thus I abide His time;

For hath the King not sworn

That all these shall be mine,

And will not He perform?

If tender ways shall serve, such wilt Thou use,—

But smite, if need be; I would not refuse.

Thy will be done!