263. P. M. Anonymous. Thy Will Be Done. 1 My God, my Father, while I stray Far from my home on life's rough way, O, teach me from my heart to say, Thy will, my God, be done! 2 Though dark my path, and sad my lot, Let me be still, and murmur not, But breathe the prayer divinely taught, Thy will, my God, be done! 3 What though in lonely grief I sigh For friends beloved, no longer nigh? Submissive still would I reply, Thy will, my God, be done! 4 If Thou shouldst call me to resign What most I prize,--it ne'er was mine,-- I only yield Thee what is Thine; Thy will, my God, be done! 5 Should pining sickness waste away My life in premature decay, In life or death teach me to say, Thy will, my God, be done! 6 Renew my will from day to day, Blend it with Thine, and take away Whate'er now makes it hard to say, Thy will, my God, be done! 264. L. M. Sarah F. Adams. Thy Will Be Done! 1 He sendeth sun, He sendeth shower; Alike they're needful for the flower; And joys and tears alike are sent To give the soul fit nourishment: As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father, Thy will, not mine, be done! 2 Can loving children e'er reprove With murmurs whom they trust and love? Creator! I would ever be A trusting, loving child to Thee As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father, Thy will, not mine, be done! 3 O, ne'er will I at life repine! Enough that Thou hast made it mine. When falls the shadow cold of death, I yet will sing, with parting breath,-- As comes to me or shade or sun, Father, Thy will, not mine, be done! 265. P. M. Bowring. Thy Will Be Done! 1 Thy will be done! In devious way The hurrying stream of life may run; Yet still our grateful hearts shall say Thy will be done! 2 Thy will be done! If o'er us shine A gladdening and a prosperous sun, This prayer shall make it more divine:-- Thy will be done! 3 Thy will be done! Though shrouded o'er Our path with gloom, one comfort, one, Is ours,--to breathe, while we adore, Thy will be done! 266. L. M. Mrs. Gilman. A Father's Care. 1 Is there a lone and dreary hour, When worldly pleasures lose their power;-- My Father! let me turn to Thee, And set each thought of darkness free. 2 Is there a time of racking grief, Which scorns the prospect of relief; My Father! break the cheerless gloom, And bid my heart its calm resume.