Classic Poem

Father , Thou knowest how weak the endeavor,
To break from the thraldom of passion and sin;
Father, Thou knowest how hard 'tis to sever,
The chain of corruption that binds us within.

Lured from our duty by voices of pleasure,
Drawn from Thy bosom by earth and its toys,
Heeding but little the soul and its treasure,
Wasting existence in profitless joys.

Father, like wanderers have we been roving,
Turning to mortals as stays of the soul,
Ever forgetting thy favor so loving,
Ever unminding eternity's goal.

Weak are the hearts that, with pain and relenting,
Turn from their idols, dear Parent Divine:
Turn from their folly with tears and repenting,
Round Thee again their affections to twine.

Oh, when the sunlight was dancing around us,
Health in the bosom and joy in the gale,
Then in that moment the Syren has found us,
Willing, too willing, to list to her tale:

Still would we come to the throne and the altar,
Pleading Thy promise benignant and free,
Still would these lips with emotion that falter,
Breathe out attachment, dear Jesus, to Thee.

Take the poor heart as it comes in its sorrow,
Bind up the wound and the cordial bestow,
To-day it is grieving, but, oh, on the morrow,
Let gladness and sunshine succeed to its woe.