--John Bunyan. NOT YET PREPARED O thou unpolished shaft, why leave the quiver? O thou blunt axe, what forests canst thou hew? Untempered sword, canst thou the oppressed deliver? Go back to thine own maker's forge anew. Submit thyself to God for preparation, Seek not to teach thy Master and thy Lord; Call it not zeal; it is a base temptation. Satan is pleased when man dictates to God. Down with thy pride! with holy vengeance trample On each self-flattering fancy that appears; Did not the Lord himself, for our example, Lie hid in Nazareth for thirty years? RECESSIONAL God of our fathers, known of old-- Lord of our far-flung battle-line-- Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine-- Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget. The tumult and the shouting dies-- The Captains and the Kings depart-- Still stands thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget. Far-called our navies melt away-- On dune and headland sinks the fire-- Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre. Judge of the nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget. If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not thee in awe-- Such boastings as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the Law-- Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget. For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard-- All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding calls not Thee to guard. For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy mercy on thy people, Lord. --Rudyard Kipling. In humbleness, O Lord, I ask That thou bestow on me The will and strength to do some task For growth of love for thee; Some task, not of my chosen will-- For wisdom is not mine-- But let my frailsome life fulfill Some perfect thought of thine. I WILL NOT SEEK I cannot think but God must know About the thing I long for so; I know he is so good, so kind, I cannot think but he will find Some way to help, some way to show Me to the thing I long for so. I stretch my hand; it lies so near, It looks so sweet, it looks so dear, "Dear Lord," I pray, "O let me know If it is wrong to want it so!" He only smiles, he does not speak; My heart grows weaker and more weak With looking at the thing so dear, Which lies so far, and yet so near.