PETITIONS
Grant unto me, dear Father! grant to me
The anointed eye, to see
Thy consecrating touch on humble things.
The rainbow on the wings
Of the small fly: the beauty that makes fair
The creatures of Thy care.
May never custom dull the quick delight
Of changing day and night;
Of kindly glance, and childhood's joyous smile,
And all that doth beguile
The spirit from the sordid world awhile.
The anointed eye, to see
Thy consecrating touch on humble things.
The rainbow on the wings
Of the small fly: the beauty that makes fair
The creatures of Thy care.
May never custom dull the quick delight
Of changing day and night;
Of kindly glance, and childhood's joyous smile,
And all that doth beguile
The spirit from the sordid world awhile.
Sweet is the holy anthem of the thrush
In twilight's solemn hush;
And sweet the twitter, like low murmurous words,
Of the shy, brooding birds;
Soft cadences, too intimately dear
For careless mortal ear.
The wayside herb no less perfection shows
Than does the splendid rose;
These of God's wondrous book are modest leaves,
Which he who well perceives
A web of constant joy about him weaves.
In twilight's solemn hush;
And sweet the twitter, like low murmurous words,
Of the shy, brooding birds;
Soft cadences, too intimately dear
For careless mortal ear.
The wayside herb no less perfection shows
Than does the splendid rose;
These of God's wondrous book are modest leaves,
Which he who well perceives
A web of constant joy about him weaves.
Grant me, oh Gracious Giver that Thou art,
An ever-grateful heart,
Unchilled by disappointment, quick to heed
Those who around me bleed.
A heart by hope and faith kept unafraid
To meet life undismayed;
A loving heart, that through all good and ill
Pours forth affection still;
A peaceful heart howe'er by tempests driven,
Knowing it well hath striven.
What need of more to make of earth a heaven?
An ever-grateful heart,
Unchilled by disappointment, quick to heed
Those who around me bleed.
A heart by hope and faith kept unafraid
To meet life undismayed;
A loving heart, that through all good and ill
Pours forth affection still;
A peaceful heart howe'er by tempests driven,
Knowing it well hath striven.
What need of more to make of earth a heaven?