I Ask Not Now For Gold To Gild With Mocking Shine A Weary Frame; The Yearning Of The Mind Is Stilled, I Ask Not Now For Fame. A Rose-Cloud, Dimly Seen Above, Melting In Heaven'S Blue Depths Away; Oh, Sweet, Fond Dream Of Human Love For Thee I May Not Pray. But, Bowed In Lowliness Of Mind, I Make My Humble Wishes Known; I Only Ask A Will Resigned, O Father, To Thine Own! To-Day, Beneath Thy Chastening Eye I Crave Alone For Peace And Rest, Submissive In Thy Hand To Lie, And Feel That It Is Best. A Marvel Seems The Universe, A Miracle Our Life And Death; A Mystery Which I Cannot Pierce, Around, Above, Beneath. In Vain I Task My Aching Brain, In Vain The Sage'S Thought I Scan, I Only Feel How Weak And Vain, How Poor And Blind, Is Man. And Now My Spirit Sighs For Home, And Longs For Light Whereby To See, And, Like A Weary Child, Would Come, O Father, Unto Thee! Though Oft, Like Letters Traced On Sand, My Weak Resolves Have Passed Away, In Mercy Lend Thy Helping Hand Unto My Prayer To-Day