I pray God that I may never find my will again. Oh, that Christ would subject my will to His, and trample it under His feet.
"A little way!"—this sentence I repeat,
Hoping and longing to extract some sweet
To mingle with the bitter; from Thy hand
I take the cup I cannot understand,
And in my weakness give myself to Thee.
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!"
Jesus knows that we had rather labor than suffer; and that we would rather labor and suffer, too, than be laid aside. No man is fit to rise up and labor, until he is made willing to lie still and suffer as long as his Master pleases.
I take this pain, Lord Jesus,
From Thine own hand;
The strength to bear it bravely
Thou wilt command.
I am too weak for effort,
So let me rest,
In hush of sweet submission
On Thine own breast.
It is resignation and contentment that are best calculated to lead us safely through life.
