John Drinkwater (1882–1937)

LORD, not for light in darkness do we pray,

Not that the veil be lifted from our eyes,

Nor that the slow ascension of our day

Be otherwise.

Not for a clearer vision of the things

Whereof the fashioning shall make us great,

Not for the remission of the peril and stings

Of time and fate.

Not for a fuller knowledge of the end

Whereto we travel, bruised yet unafraid,

Nor that the little healing that we lend

Shall be repaid.

Not these, O Lord. We would not break the bars

Thy wisdom sets about us; we shall climb

Unfetter’d to the secrets of the stars

In Thy good time.

We do not crave the high perception swift

When to refrain were well, and when fulfil,

Nor yet the understanding strong to sift

The good from ill.

Not these, O Lord. For these Thou hast reveal’d,

We know the golden season when to reap

The heavy-fruited treasure of the field,

The hour to sleep.

Not these. We know the hemlock from the rose,

The pure from stain’d, the noble from the base,

The tranquil holy light of truth that glows

On Pity’s face.

We know the paths wherein our feet should press,

Across our hearts are written Thy decrees:

Yet now, O Lord, be merciful to bless

With more than these.

Grant us the will to fashion as we feel,

Grant us the strength to labour as we know,

Grant us the purpose, ribb’d and edged with steel,

To strike the blow.

Knowledge we ask not—knowledge Thou hast lent,

But, Lord, the will—there lies our bitter need,

Give us to build above the deep intent

The deed, the deed.