The day is long and the day is hard; We are tired of the march and of keeping guard; Tired of the sense of a fight to be won, Of days to live through, and of work to be done; Tired of ourselves and of being alone. And all the while, did we only see, We walk in the Lord's own company; We fight, but 'tis he who nerves our arm; He turns the arrows which else might harm, And out of the storm he brings a calm. --Susan Coolidge. COME TO ME Come to me, come to me, O my God; Come to me everywhere. Let the trees mean thee, and the grassy sod, And the water and the air. For thou art so far that I often doubt, As on every side I stare, Searching within and looking without, If thou canst be anywhere. How did men find thee in days of old? How did they grow so sure? They fought in thy name, they were glad and bold, They suffered and kept themselves pure. But now they say--neither above the sphere Nor down in the heart of man, But only in fancy, ambition, and fear, The thought of thee began. If only that perfect tale were true Which ages have not made old, Of the endless many makes one anew, And simplicity manifold! But he taught that they who did his word, The truth of it sure would know; I will try to do it--if he be Lord Again the old faith will glow. Again the old spirit-wind will blow That he promised to their prayer; And obeying the Son, I too shall know His Father everywhere. --George Macdonald. Out of the hardness of heart and of will Out of the longings which nothing could fill; Out of the bitterness, madness, and strife, Out of myself and all I called life, Into the having of all things with Him! Into an ecstacy full to the brim! Wonderful loveliness, draining my cup! Wonderful purpose that ne'er gave me up! Wonderful patience, enduring and strong! Wonderful glory to which I belong! IF I HIM BUT HAVE If I Him but have, If he be but mine-- If my heart, hence to the grave, Ne'er forgets his love divine-- Know I naught of sadness, Feel I naught but worship, love, and gladness. If I Him but have, Glad with all I part; Follow on my pilgrim staff, My Lord, only, with true heart; Leave them, nothing saying, On broad, bright, and crowded highways straying. If I Him but have, Glad I fall asleep; Aye the flood that his heart gave Strength within my heart shall keep; And with soft compelling Make it tender, through and through it swelling. If I Him but have, Mine the world I hail! Glad as cherub smiling, grave, Holding back the Virgin's veil. Sunk and lost in seeing, Earthly cares have died from all my being.