Last Lines

Jan 7th     A dreadful darkness closes in     On my bewildered mind;     O let me suffer and not sin,     Be tortured yet resigned.     Through all this world of whelming mist     Still let me look to Thee,     And give me courage to resist     The Tempter till he flee.     Weary I am, O give me strength     And leave me not to faint;     Say Thou wilt comfort me at length     And pity my complaint.     I've begged to serve Thee heart and soul,     To sacrifice to Thee     No niggard portion, but the whole     Of my identity.     I hoped amid the brave and strong     My portioned task might lie,     To toil amid the labouring throng     With purpose pure and high.     But Thou hast fixed another part,     And Thou hast fixed it well;     I said so with my breaking heart     When first the anguish fell.     For Thou hast taken my delight     And hope of life away,     And bid me watch the painful night     And wait the weary day.     The hope and the delight were Thine;     I bless Thee for their loan;     I gave Thee while I deemed them mine     Too little thanks, I own.     Shall I with joy Thy blessings share     And not endure their loss?     Or hope the martyr's crown to wear     And cast away the cross?     These weary hours will not be lost,     These days of passive misery,     These nights of darkness anguish tost     If I can fix my heart on Thee.     Weak and weary though I lie,     Crushed with sorrow, worn with pain,     Still I may lift to Heaven mine eyes     And strive and labour not in vain,     That inward strife against the sins     That ever wait on suffering;     To watch and strike where first begins     Each ill that would corruption bring,     That secret labour to sustain     With humble patience every blow,     To gather fortitude from pain     And hope and holiness from woe.     Thus let me serve Thee from my heart     Whatever be my written fate,     Whether thus early to depart     Or yet awhile to wait.     If Thou shouldst bring me back to life     More humbled I should be;     More wise, more strengthened for the strife,     More apt to lean on Thee.     Should Death be standing at the gate     Thus should I keep my vow;     But, Lord, whate'er my future fate     So let me serve Thee now.     Finished. Jan. 28, 1849.