Poem March 4, 1939 Issue

"Thy will be done"

ROWENA A. MILLS

WHEN clouds of sense obscure the view
And seem to hide the narrow way,
What joy it is to humbly pray,
Father, what wouldst Thou have me do?

Oh, childlike faith! Oh, beauteous words!
They make the burdened heart to sing
With praise and gratitude, and bring
Swift harmony, as flying birds.

The foe is vanquished, peace is won,
When earthly chains of human pride
And selfishness are cast aside
That we may say, Thy will be done!

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