Verse > Anthologies > The World’s Best Poetry > Vol. IV. The Higher Life
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CONTENTS · BOOK CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
Bliss Carman, et al., eds.  The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume IV. The Higher Life.  1904.
 
I. The Divine Element—(God, Christ, the Holy Spirit)
The Will of God
Frederick William Faber (1814–1863)
 
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        5
  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,        10
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,        15
  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.        20
 
I love to kiss each print where thou
  Hast set thine unseen feet;
I cannot fear thee, blessèd will!
  Thine empire is so sweet.
 
When obstacles and trials seem        25
  Like prison walls to be,
I do the little I can do,
  And leave the rest to thee.
 
I know not what it is to doubt,
  My heart is ever gay;        30
I run no risk, for, come what will,
  Thou always hast thy way.
 
I have no cares, O blessèd will!
  For all my cares are thine:
I live in triumph, Lord! for thou        35
  Hast made thy triumphs mine.
 
And when it seems no chance or change
  From grief can set me free,
Hope finds its strength in helplessness,
  And gayly waits on thee.        40
 
Man’s weakness, waiting upon God,
  Its end can never miss,
For men on earth no work can do
  More angel-like than this.
 
Ride on, ride on, triumphantly,        45
  Thou glorious will, ride on!
Faith’s pilgrim sons behind thee take
  The road that thou hast gone.
 
He always wins who sides with God,
  To him no chance is lost;        50
God’s will is sweetest to him, when
  It triumphs at his cost.
 
Ill that he blesses is our good,
  And unblessed good is ill;
And all is right that seems most wrong,        55
  If it be his sweet will.
 
 
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