Unto the Desired Haven, and Other Religious Poems

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A. D. F. Randolph, 1880 - Religious poetry - 174 pages
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Page 165 - Take my will, and make it thine ; It shall be no longer mine : Take my heart, it is thine own ; It shall be thy royal throne. Take my love ; my Lord, I pour At thy feet, its treasure-store ; Take myself, and I will be Ever, only, all for Thee.
Page 18 - I TAKE this pain, Lord Jesus, From Thine own hand, The strength to bear it bravely Thou wilt command. I am too weak for effort, So let me rest, In hush of sweet submission, On Thine own breast. I take this pain, Lord Jesus, As proof indeed That Thou art watching closely My truest need ; That Thou, my Good Physician, Art watching still ; That all Thine own good pleasure Thou wilt fulfil.
Page 7 - Every golden deed of theirs Sheds its lustre on my way ; All their labors, all their prayers, Sanctify this present day. " Heir of all that they have earned By their passion and their tears, Heir of all that they have learned Through the weary, toiling years.
Page 24 - His own. Holy strivings nerve and strengthen. Long endurance wins the crown ; When the evening shadows lengthen Thou shalt lay the burden down.
Page 16 - This is indeed the boon, Though strange to us it seems ; We pierce the rock, and soon The blessing on us streams : For when we are the most athirst, Then the clear waters on us burst.
Page 135 - Oh to be nothing, nothing ! Only to lie at His feet, A broken and emptied vessel, For the Master's use made meet.
Page 164 - ... Take my hands, and let them move At the impulse of thy love. Take my feet, and let them be Swift and beautiful for thee ; Take my voice, and let me sing Always, only, for my King.
Page 163 - So with Thee, till life shall end, I would solemn vigil spend ; Let me hew Thee, LORD, a shrine In this rocky heart of mine, Where in pure embalmed cell None but Thou may ever dwell.
Page 46 - SPEAK low, speak little : who may sing While yonder cannon-thunders boom ? Watch, shuddering, what each day may bring ; Nor "pipe amid the crack of doom.
Page 149 - Many and fair, • — but I see not mine. I question the sailors every night Who over the bulwarks idly lean, Noting the sails as they come in sight, — " Have you seen my beautiful ship come in ? ' "Whence does she come ?" they ask of me ; "Who is her master, and what her name...

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