George Willis Cooke, comp. The Poets of Transcendentalism: An Anthology. 1903.
A Song of TrustJohn White Chadwick (18401904)
O L
The sweetest still and best,
Fain would I come and rest to-night
Upon thy sheltering breast.
Was ever tired of play,
When evening’s hush has folded in
The noises of the day;
The little one will creep
Into the arms that have no joy
Like holding him in sleep;
So gentle, sweet, and strong
In all its looks for those who love,
So pitiful of wrong.
For, sinful though I be,
Thou knowest every thing I need
And all my need of Thee.
Says, Wherefore should I pray
That Thou shouldst seek me with Thy love,
Since Thou dost seek alway?
I urge my steps to Thee;
But in the darkness of my life
Art coming still to me.
I pray because I must;
There is no meaning in my prayer
But thankfulness and trust.
Than what Thou ever art;
Be still Thyself, and then I know
We cannot live apart.
And still Thy strength will come,
In many ways to bear me up
And bring me to my home.
And not the words I say;
Wilt hear the thanks among the words
That only seem to pray;
As if Thy loving care
Could even miss me in the midst
Of this Thy temple fair.
How can I any more,
So quick to-night my tossing bark
Has reached the happy shore;
Has sung itself to rest,
O Love Divine, forever near,
Upon Thy sheltering breast!