So now, I pray Thee, keep my hand in Thine; And guide it as Thou wilt. I do not ask To understand the 'wherefore' of each line; Mine is the sweeter, easier, happier task, Just to look up to Thee for every word, Rest in Thy love, and trust, and know that I am heard. The Thoughts of God. They say there is a hollow, safe and still, A point of coolness and repose Within the centre of a flame, where life might dwell Unharmed and unconsumed, as in a luminous shell, Which the bright walls of fire enclose In breachless splendour, barrier that no foes Could pass at will. There is a point of rest At the great centre of the cyclone's force, A silence at its secret source;-- A little child might slumber undistressed, Without the ruffle of one fairy curl, In that strange central calm amid the mighty whirl. So, in the centre of these thoughts of God, Cyclones of power, consuming glory-fire,-- As we fall o'erawed Upon our faces, and are lifted higher By His great gentleness, and carried nigher Than unredeemed angels, till we stand Even in the hollow of His hand, Nay, more! we lean upon His breast-- _There_, there we find a point of perfect rest And glorious safety. There we see His thoughts to usward, thoughts of peace That stoop in tenderest love; that still increase With increase of our need; that never change, That never fail, or falter, or forget O pity infinite! O royal mercy free! O gentle climax of the depth and height Of God's most precious thoughts, most wonderful, most strange! 'For I am poor and needy, yet The Lord Himself, Jehovah, _thinketh upon me_!' 'Free to Serve.'