Classic Poem

I WEEP , but do not yield,
I mourn, yet still rebel;
My inmost soul seems steeled,
Cold and immovable.

The wound is sharp and deep;
My spirit bleeds within;
And yet I lie asleep,
And still I sin, I sin.

My bruised soul complains
Of stripes without, within;
I feel these piercing pains —
Yet still I sin, I sin.

O'er me the low cloud hung
Its weight of shade and fear;
Unmoved I passed along,
And still my sin is here.

Yon massive mountain-peak
The lightning rends at will;
The rock can melt or break —
I am unbroken still.

My sky was once noon-bright,
My day was calm the while,
I loved the pleasant light,
The sunshine's happy smile.

I said, my God, oh, sure,
This love will kindle mine;
Let but this calm endure,
Then all my heart is thine.

Alas, I knew it not! —
The summer flung its gold.
Of sunshine o'er my lot,
And yet my heart was cold.

Trust me with prosperous days,
I said, O spare the rod;
Thee and thy love I'll praise,
My gracious, patient God.

Must I be smitten, Lord?
Are gentler measures vain?
Must I be smitten, Lord?
Can nothing save but pain?

Thou trustedst me a while;
Alas! I was deceived;
I revelled in the smile,
Yet to the dust I cleaved.

Then the fierce tempest broke,
I knew from whom it came,
I read in that sharp stroke
A father's hand and name.

And yet I did Thee wrong;
Dark thoughts of Thee came in, —
A froward, selfish throng —
And I allowed the sin!

I did Thee wrong, my God,
I wronged thy truth and love,
I fretted at the rod,
Against thy power I strove.

I said, my God, at length,
This stony heart remove,
Deny all other strength,
But give me strength to love.

Come nearer, nearer still,
Let not thy light depart;
Bend, break this stubborn will,
Dissolve this iron heart.

Less wayward let me be,
More pliable and mild;
In glad simplicity
More like a trustful child.

Less, less, of self each day,
And more, my God, of thee;
O keep me in the way,
However rough it be.

Less of the flesh each day,
Less of the world and sin;
More of thy Son I pray,
More of Thyself within.

Riper and riper now,
Each hour let me become,
Less fit for scenes below,
More fit for such a home.

More moulded to Thy will,
Lord, let Thy servant be,
Higher and higher still,
Liker and liker thee.

Leave nought that is unmeet;
Of all that is mine own
Strip me; and so complete
My training for the throne.