Zinnias, Roses and Peonies with Thy way, not mine O Lord and As when the weary traveler gains

Thy way, not mine O Lord,
  However dark it be:
Lead me by Thine own hand:
  Choose out the path for me.
Smooth let it be or rough,
  It will be still the best;
Winding or straight, it leads
  Right onward to Thy rest.

I dare not choose my lot;
  I would not, if I might;
Choose Thou for me, my God:
  So shall I walk aright.
Take Thou my cup, and it
  With joy or sorrow fill,
As best to Thee may seem;
  Choose Thou my good and ill.

Choose Thou for me my friends,
  My sickness or my health;
Choose Thou my cares for me,
  My poverty or wealth.
Not mine, not mine the choice,
  In things or great or small;
Be thou my Guide, my Strength,
  My Wisdom, and my All. Amen

Horatius Bonar

 

(2 versions)

As when the weary traveler gains
  The height of some commanding hill-
His heart revives, if o’er the plains
  He sees his home, though distant still.

So when the Christian pilgrim views
  By faith his mansion in the skies;
The sight his fainting strength renews,
  And wings his speed to reach the prize.

The hope of heaven his spirit cheers;
  No more he grieves for sorrows past,
Nor any future conflict fears,
  So he may safe arrive at last.

O Lord, on thee our hopes we stay,
  To lead us on to thine abode:
Assur’d thy love will far o’erpay
  The hardest labors of the road.

     Newton
AND

As when the weary traveller gains
The height of some o’erlooking hill,
His heart revives, if cross the plains
He eyes his home, though distant still.

While he surveys the much loved spot,
He slights the space that lies between;
His past fatigues are now forgot,
Because his journey’s end is seen.

Thus when the Christian pilgrim views,
By faith, his mansion in the skies,
The sight his fainting strength renews,
And wings his speed to reach the prize.

The thought of home his spirit cheers,
Nor more he grieves for troubles past;
Nor any future trial fears,
So he may safe arrive at last.

‘Tis there, he says, I am to dwell
With Jesus, in the realms of day;
Then I shall bid my cares farewell,
And He will wipe my tears away.

Jesus, on thee our hope depends,
To lead us on to thine abode:
Assured our home will make amends
For all our toil while on the road.

Newton