Page:Poems Kimball.djvu/183

That Thou in all things dost ordain
    Thy children's good;
That joy shall be the fruit of pain
    When understood,

I know, and yet (O slow of heart!)
    But half believe;
And when I fail in secret smart,
    And fret, and grieve.

Fill me with faith's divine content
    In Thee, O Lord,
And make me willing to be spent
    Without reward!

Yea, Lord, without one smallest gain,
    Though sought alone
For others' good, by toil and pain,
    Not for mine own.

And when my failures cast me down,
    Make me to rest,
Not in the thought of any crown,
    But on Thy breast.

The weary sea-bird goes to sleep
    On tossing waves,
Untroubled by the storm, the deep,
    In trust that saves.