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Saturday, August 24, 2013

Wishful Dog with O Thou who driest the mourner's tear and My God, my Father, blissful name

  O Thou who driest the mourner’s tear,
  How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived and wounded here,
  We could not fly to thee!

  The friends who in our sunshine live,
  When winter comes, are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,
  Must weep those tears alone.

  But thou wilt heal that broken heart,
  Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
  Breathes sweetness out of woe.

  O who could bear life’s stormy doom,
  Did not thy wing of love
Come brightly wafting through the gloom,
  Our peace-branch from above?

  Then sorrow, touched by thee, grows bright
  With more than rapture’s ray;
As darkness shows us worlds of light
  We never saw by day.

Thomas MooreMy God, my Father, blissful name,
  Oh, may I call thee mine!
May I with sweet assurance claim
  A portion so divine!

This only can my fears control,
  And bid my sorrows fly;
What harm can ever reach my soul,
  Beneath my Father’s eye?

Whate’er thy providence denies,
  I calmly would resign;
For thou art good and just and wise;
  O bend my will to thine.

Whate’er thy sacred will ordains,
  O give me strength to bear.
And let me know my Father reigns,
  And trust his tender care.

Anne Steele

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