To a brave soul: Exalt the poore,
They can do more.
O, raise me then! poore bees, that work all day,
Sting my delay,
Who have a work, as well as they,
And much, much more.
GEORGE HERBERT.
*
PRAYER.
O God! though sorrow be my fate,
And the world's hate
For my heart's faith pursue me.
My peace they cannot take away;
Prom day to day
Thou dost anew imbue me;
Thou art not far; a little while
Thou hid'st thy face, with brighter smile
Thy father-love to show me.
Lord, not my will, but thine, be done;
If I sink down
When men to terrors leave me,
Thy father-love still warms my breast;
All's for the best;
Shall men have power to grieve me,
When bliss eternal is my goal.
And thou the keeper of my soul,
Who never will deceive me?
Thou art my shield, as saith the Word.
Christ Jesus, Lord,
Thou standest pitying by me,
And lookest on each grief of mine
And if 't were thine:
What, then, though foes may try me.
Though thorns be in my path concealed?
World, do thy worst! God is my shield!
And will be ever nigh me.
Translated from MARY, QUEEN OF HUNGARY.