Thy Will be Done

ANNIE L. FISHER.

How often, when some cherished wish
Love's wisdom has denied,
We, in our wilfulness, have mourned
And were not satisfied;
But when the Horeb heights we gained,
Love's wise withholding was explained.

And often, when our stubborn will
Accomplished what it planned,
When what we thought earth's fairest flowers
Were ashes in our hand,
We learned, when forced to drink the gall,
Love's way was better—after all.

'Tis not blind fate which marks our path,
But Love's unerring hand
Which brings us—oft by unsought ways—
Into the dear Home Land.
Through pastures green, o'er hillsides bare,—
Love guides our footsteps everywhere.