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John Greenleaf Whittier

The Wish of To-day

I ask not now for gold to gild

With mocking shine a weary frame;

The yearning of the mind is stilled,

I ask not now for Fame.

A rose-cloud, dimly seen above,

Melting in heaven's blue depths away;

Oh, sweet, fond dream of human Love!

For thee I may not pray.

But, bowed in lowliness of mind,

I make my humble wishes known;

I only ask a will resigned,

O Father, to Thine own!

To-day, beneath Thy chastening eye

I crave alone for peace and rest,

Submissive in Thy hand to lie,

And feel that it is best.

A marvel seems the Universe,

A miracle our Life and Death;

A mystery which I cannot pierce,

Around, above, beneath.

In vain I task my aching brain,

In vain the sage's thought I scan,

I only feel how weak and vain,

How poor and blind, is man.

And now my spirit sighs for home,

And longs for light whereby to see,

And, like a weary child, would come,

O Father, unto Thee!

Though oft, like letters traced on sand,

My weak resolves have passed away,

In mercy lend Thy helping hand

Unto my prayer to-day!