Classic Poem

Should I not gladly greet the heavy task
Sent as an angel from my God to me?
Why should I, faltering, my Father ask
Wherefore He chose it His messenger to be?

As a bird nestles 'neath its mother's wings,
So on His breast I lean secure from harm;
Though death assail me with its thousand stings,
I conquer yet, my faith my conquering arm.

Yon gentle dove her prayer-encumbered flight
Wings to my Father's azure-tinted sphere;
And when He sees her hovering in His light,
Whispers she softly in His listening ear.

So to Thee, Lord, my offering I make:
Thou who so deeply in my heart doth see!
From Thee my cross, in love, I humbly take,
E'en as in love Thou offerest it to me.