1 We see not, know not; all our way
Is night—with Thee alone is day:
From out the torrent’s troubled drift,
Above the storm our prayers we lift,
Thy will be done!
2 The flesh may fail, the heart may faint,
But who are we to make complaint,
Or dare to plead, in times like these,
The weakness of our love of ease?
Thy will be done!
3 We take with solemn thankfulness
Our burden up, nor ask it less,
And count it joy that even we
May suffer, serve, or wait for Thee,
Whose will be done!
4 Though dim as yet in tint and line,
We trace Thy picture’s wise design,
And thank Thee that our age supplies
Its dark relief of sacrifice.
Thy will be done!
5 And if, in our unworthiness,
Thy sacrificial wine we press,
If from Thy ordeal’s heated bars
Our feet are seamed with crimson scars,
Thy will be done!
6 If, for the age to come, this hour
Of trial hath vicarious power,
And, blest by Thee, our present gain
Be Liberty’s eternal gain,
Thy will be done!
7 Strike, Thou the Master, we Thy keys,
The anthem of the destinies!
The minor of Thy loftier strain,
Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain,
Thy will be done!
Source: The Cyber Hymnal #13046
Whittier, John Greenleaf, the American Quaker poet, was born at Haverhill, Massachusetts, Dec. 17, 1807. He began life as a farm-boy and shoemaker, and subsequently became a successful journalist, editor and poet. In 1828 he became editor of the American Manufacturer (Boston), in 1830 of the New England Review, and an 1836 (on becoming Secretary to the American Anti-Slavery Society) of the Pennsylvania Freeman. He was also for some time, beginning with 1847, the corresponding editor of the National Era. In 1840 he removed to Amesbury, Massachusetts, where most of his later works have been written. At the present time [1890] he lives alternately at Amesbury and Boston. His first poetical piece was printed in the Newburyport Free Press in 182… Go to person page >
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