Poem March 6, 1902 Issue

Thy Will be Done

BY ISABEL WENTWORTH LEE.

THY will be done,
O Spirit tender,
To Thee, to Thee,
My life I render.
No fault so dear
I strive to hold,
No loss I fear,
Thine arms enfold.

No more the Cup
I grasp in blindness,
Its draught is sweet,
Thy lovingkindness.
No thorns I dread
Of joy they speak
The Cross I'll bear
Its way I seek.

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