1 Lord! in thy garden agony, No light seemed on thy soul to break, No form of seraph lingered nigh, Nor yet the voice of comfort spake; 2 Till, by thine own triumphant word, The victory over, ill was won; Till the sweet, mournful cry was heard, "Thy will, O God, not mine, be done!" 3 Lord, bring these precious moments back, When, fainting, against sin we strain; Or in thy counsels fail to track Aught but the present grief and pain. 4 In weakness, help us to contend; In darkness, yield to God our will; And true hearts, faithful to the end, Cheer by thine holy angels still! 481. C. M. Steele. Filial Submission. 1 And can my heart aspire so high, To say, "My Father," God? Lord, at thy feet, I fain would lie, And learn to kiss the rod. 2 I would submit to all thy will, For thou art good and wise; Let each rebellious thought be still, Nor one faint murmur rise. 3 Thy love can cheer the darkest gloom, And bid me wait serene, Till hopes and joys immortal bloom, And brighten all the scene. 4 "My Father, God," permit my heart To plead her humble claim, And ask the bliss those words impart, In my Redeemer's name. 482. C. M. Pope. Universal Prayer. 1 Father of all! in every age, In every clime, adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!-- 2 Save me alike from foolish pride, Or impious discontent At aught thy wisdom has denied, Or aught thy goodness lent. 3 This day be bread and peace my lot: All else beneath the sun Thou knowest if best bestowed or not And let thy will be done. 4 Yet not to earth's contracted span Thy goodness let me bound, Or think thee Lord alone of man, When thousand worlds are round. 5 To thee whose temple is all space, Whose altar, earth, sea, skies, One chorus let all beings raise, All nature's incense rise. 483. C. M. Pope. The Same. 1 Father of all, whose cares extend To earth's remotest shore, Through every age let praise ascend, And every clime adore. 2 Mean though I am, not wholly so, Since quickened by thy breath; Lord, lead me wheresoe'er I go, Through this day's life or death. 3 Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me. 4 If I am right, thy grace impart Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, O teach my heart To find that better way. 5 What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This teach me more than hell to shun, That more than heaven pursue. 484. 7s. M. Methodist Coll. Seeking God.