op and weep?

And O, it is a splendor,
A glow of majesty,
A mystery of beauty,
If we will only see;
A very cloud of glory
Enfolding you and me.

A splendor that is lighted
At one transcendent flame,
The wondrous love, the perfect love,
Our Father's sweetest name;
For his very name and essence
And his will are all the same.

--Frances Ridley Havergal.

NOT BY CHANCE

No chance has brought this ill to me;
'Tis God's sweet will, so let it be;
He seeth what I cannot see.

There is a need-be for each pain,
And he will make it one day plain
That earthly loss is heavenly gain.

Like as a piece of tapestry,
Viewed from the back, appears to be
Naught but threads tangled hopelessly,

But in the front a picture fair
Rewards the worker for his care,
Proving his skill and patience rare.

Thou art the workman, I the frame;
Lord, for the glory of thy name,
Perfect thine image on the same!

SUBMISSION TO GOD

Whate'er God wills let that be done;
His will is ever wisest;
His grace will all thy hope outrun
Who to that faith arisest.
The gracious Lord
Will help afford;
He chastens with forbearing;
Who God believes,
And to him cleaves,
Shall not be left despairing.

My God is my sure confidence,
My light, and my existence;
His counsel is beyond my sense,
But stirs no weak resistance;
His word declares
The very hairs
Upon my head are numbered;
His mercy large
Holds me in charge
With care that never slumbered.

There comes a day when at his will
The pulse of nature ceases.
I think upon it, and am still,
Let come whate'er he pleases.
To him I trust
My soul, my dust,
When flesh and spirit sever;
The Christ we sing
Has plucked the sting
Away from death forever.

--Albert of Brandenburg, 1586.

THY WILL BE DONE

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!

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 wil