Explore "The Wish of to-Day" by John Greenleaf Whittier on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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! 1848.