“Thy Will Be Done.”

’Tis rebellion gives us pain, Anguish comes when we complain In the stormy day; When the will is all subdued, When no murm’ring thoughts intrude, Sorrow flies away.

Tranquil as the sleeping sea, Ever may our bosoms be, Though our all is gone; Sweetly passive when we lie, Fearing not the frowning sky, Brighter prospects dawn.

O! ye pilgrims, do ye know When the heavenly breezes blow O’er this wretched earth? ’Tis when sorrow rends the heart; Then the Savior doth impart Joys of heavenly birth.

When, in God’s mysterious way, Sorrow’s night shuts out the day, Patient let me be; Death, thou great destroyer, come! Take my friends and bear them home, Then return for me!

JANUARY 18, 1841.

WHOM THE LORD LOVETH, HE CHASTENETH.

My Father chastens whom he loves; O! then, he loves me tenderly; Oft in the fire my heart he proves, As oft I know the reason why.

For I am full of earthly love; I idolize the gifts of Heaven; And then my Father, from above, Recalls the dear ones he has given.

Then earth’s attractions die to me, And I am forced to look above; And He who fills eternity, Attracts my gaze, and fires my love.

So, trials let me ever hail, Which bring another world so near; I’m introduced within the veil, And angel songs I seem to hear.

Afflicted heart, rejoice, rejoice! The door of Heaven is oped for thee; And hark! O! hark! I hear a voice Which, “Come up hither,” says to me.

O! Father! dost thou love me so? These dreadful strokes fall not on me; I bless thy name, each heavy blow But strikes my chain, to set me free!

MCPHERSONVILLE, April 15, 1841.