I bow my forehead to the dust, I veil mine eyes for shame, And urge, in trembling self distrust, A prayer without a claim. No offering of mine own I have, Nor works my faith to prove; I can but give the gifts He gave, And plead His love for love.
I dimly guess, from blessings known, Of greater out of sight; And, with the chastened psalmist, own His judgments too are right. And if my heart and flesh are weak To bear an untried pain, The bruiséd reed He will not break, But strengthen and sustain.
I know not what the future hath Of marvel or surprise, Assured alone that life and death His mercy underlies. And so beside the silent sea I wait the muffled oar; No harm from Him can come to me On ocean or on shore.
I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care; And Thou, O Lord, by Whom are seen Thy creatures as they be, Forgive me if too close I lean My human heart on Thee.