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01In print by 1911 AD
O God, my master God, look down and see If I am making what Thou wouldst of me. Fain might I lift my hands up in the air From the defiant passion of my prayer; Yet here they grope on this cold altar stone, Graving the words I think I should make known. Mine eyes are Thine. Yea, let me not forget, Lest with unstaunched tears I leave them wet, Dimming their faithful power, till they not see Some small, plain task that might be done for Thee. My feet, that ache for paths of flowery bloom, Halt steadfast in the straitness of this room. Though they may never be on errands sent, Here shall they stay, and wait Thy full content. And my poor heart, that doth so crave for peace, Shall beat until Thou bid its beating cease. So, Thou dear master God, look down and see Whether I do Thy bidding heedfully.
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