In a service which Thy will appoints, For my inmost heart is taught the truth And a life of self-renouncing love Is a life of liberty. A. L. Waring XIII THE FORCE OF PRAYER "What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail ? "What is good for a bootless bene?" And she made answer, "Endless sorrow!" She knew it by the falconer's words, Young Romilly through Barden woods The pair have reach'd that fearful chasm, For lordly Wharf is there pent in This striding place is called the Strid, A thousand years hath it borne that name, And hither is young Romilly come, That he, perhaps for the hundredth time, He sprang in glee-for what cared he That the river was strong and the rocks were steep? But the greyhound in the leash hung back, And check'd him in his leap. The boy is in the arms of Wharf, Now there is stillness in the vale, Long, long in darkness did she sit, And her first words were, 66 Let there be, In Bolton, on the field of Wharf, A stately Priory." The stately Priory was rear'd, And the Lady pray'd in heaviness Oh there is never sorrow of heart, W. Wordsworth XIV THE CHRISTIAN'S PRAYER Jesus, my strength, my hope, On Thee I cast my care, With humble confidence look up, And know thou hear'st my prayer. Give me on Thee to wait Till I can all things do, On Thee Almighty to create, I want a sober mind, That tramples down and casts behind A soul inured to pain, To hardships, grief, and loss; Bold to take up, firm to sustain, The consecrated cross. I want a godly fear, A quick discerning eye, That looks to Thee when sin is near, And arm'd with jealous care, I want a heart to pray, Out of the deep on Thee to call I want a true regard, Unmoved by theat'ning, or reward, To Thee and Thy great name; For Thine immortal praise ; I rest upon Thy word; с My succour and salvation, Lord, Nor from Thy hope remove, Till Thou my patient spirit guide XV Charles Wesley THOUGHTS OF CHRIST Jesu, the very thought of Thee No voice can sing, no heart can frame, O hope of every contrite heart, To those who fall how kind Thou art, But what to those who find? Ah! this The love of Jesus, what it is, None but His loved ones know. Jesu, our only joy be Thou, Bernard of Fontaine Translated by E. Caswall |