O Lord my God, do thou Thy holy will —

I will lie still —

I will not stir, lest I forsake Thine arm,

And break the charm

Which lulls me, clinging to my Father’s breast,

In perfect rest.

Wild fancy, peace! thou must not me beguile

With thy false smile:

I know thy flatteries and thy cheating ways;

Be silent, Praise,

Blind guide with siren voice, and blinding all

That hear thy call.

Come, Self-devotion, high and pure,

Thoughts that in thankfulness endure,

Though dearest hopes are faithless found,

And dearest hearts are bursting round.

Come, Resignation, spirit meek,

And let me kiss thy placid cheek,

And read in thy pale eye serene

Their blessing, who by faith can wean

Their hearts from sense, and learn to love

God only, and the joys above.

They say, who know the life divine,

And upward gaze with eagle eyne,

That by each golden crown on high,⁵²⁵². . . .“that little coronet or special reward which God hath prepared (extraordinary and besides the great Crown of all faithful souls) for thos ‘who have not defiled themselves with women, but follow the (virgin) Lamb for ever.’” Bp. Taylor, Holy Living, c. xi. sect. 3

Rich with celestial jewelry,

Which for our Lord’s redeemed is set,

There hangs a radiant coronet,

All gemmed with pure and living light,

Too dazzling for a sinner’s sight,

Prepared for virgin souls, and them

Who seek the martyr’s diadem.

Nor deem, who to that bliss aspire,

Must win their way through blood and fire.

The writhings of a wounded heart

Are fiercer than a foeman’s dart.

Oft in Life’s stillest shade reclining,

In Desolation unrepining,

Without a hope on earth to find

A mirror in an answering mind,

Meek souls there are, who little dream

Their daily strife an Angel’s theme,

Or that the rod they take so calm

Shall prove in Heaven a martyr’s palm.

And there are souls that seem to dwell

Above this earth — so rich a spell

Floats round their steps, where’er they move,

From hopes fulfilled and mutual love.

Such, if on high their thoughts are set,

Nor in the stream the source forget,

If prompt to quit the bliss they know,

Following the Lamb where’er He go,

By purest pleasures unbeguiled

To idolise or wife or child;

Such wedded souls our God shall own

For faultless virgins round His throne.

Thus everywhere we find our suffering God,

And where He trod

May set our steps: the Cross on Calvary

Uplifted high

Beams on the martyr host, a beacon light

In open fight.

To the still wrestlings of the lonely heart

He doth impart

The virtue of his midnight agony,

When none was nigh,

Save God and one good angel, to assuage

The tempest’s rage.

Mortal! if life smile on thee, and thou find

All to thy mind,

Think, who did once from Heaven to Hell descend,

Thee to befriend:

So shalt thou dare forego, at His dear call,

Thy best, thine all.

“O Father! not My will, but Thine be done” —

So spake the Son.

Be this our charm, mellowing Earth’s ruder noise

Of griefs and joys:

That we may cling for ever to Thy breast

In perfect rest!