Per Pacem Ad Lucem |
|
|
|
I DO not ask, O Lord, that life may be A pleasant road; I do not ask that Thou wouldst take from me Aught of its load; I do not ask that flowers should always spring Beneath my feet; I know too well the poison and the sting Of things too sweet. For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead, Lead me aright- Though strength should falter, and though heart should bleed- Through Peace to Light. I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed Full radiance here; Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread Without a fear. I do not ask my cross to understand, My way to see; Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand And follow Thee. Joy is like restless day; but peace divine Like quiet night: Lead me, O Lord,-till perfect Day shall shine, Through Peace to Light.
|
|
Comments of this poem (0)
No comments
Please, comment this poem
More `Adelaide A. Procter` Poems
|
LOUD roared the tempest, Fast fell the sleet;
|
Rating: 0.00 Votes: 0 |
|
|
|
You have taken back the promise That you spoke so long ago;
|
Rating: 5.00 Votes: 3 |
|
|
|
WHERE are the swallows fled? Frozen and dead,
|
Rating: 0.00 Votes: 0 |
|
|
Related Poets
Ernest Favenc
(1)
(1845 - 1908)
Was an explorer of Australia, a journalist and historian.
|
Norman Rowland Gale
(9)
(1862 - 1942)
Norman Rowland Gale was a little known English poet.
|
Henry David Thoreau
(9)
(1817 - 1862)
Henry David Thoreau was an American author, naturalist, transcendentalist, tax resister, development critic, sage writer and philosopher.
|
Thomas William Heney
(4)
(1862 - 1928)
Was an Australian journalist and poet.
|
Classic Poems
|
I tell you a tale to-night Which a seaman told to me,
|
Rating: 4.75 Votes: 4 |
|
|
|
My tears are like the quiet drift Of petals from some magic rose;
|
Rating: 4.50 Votes: 8 |
|
|
|
Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together! The wind's in the tree-top, the wind's in the heather;
|
Rating: 3.50 Votes: 2 |
|
|
|
Creep into thy narrow bed, Creep, and let no more be said!
|
Rating: 0.00 Votes: 0 |
|
|
|
I, with whose colours Myra dress'd her head, I, that ware posies of her own hand-making,
|
Rating: 5.00 Votes: 1 |
|
|
|
|
|
|