Supplication

          Forbid my feet to stray,
          O Father, from the way 
That leads to Thee and to thy perfect rest;
          Though rough that way and steep,
          Right onward would I keep: 
The path Thou choosest for me is the best!

          The best, though on its flints
          My feet leave bloody prints, 
And every step is added toil and pain;
          The best, though hard and straight, —
          Since through its narrow gate, 
The Golden City shall my soul attain.

          Misled by sinful pride,
          Too long I turned aside, 
Placing in human wisdom all my trust;
          Too long, in sorest need,
          Leaned on a broken reed, 
And fed my heart with hopes that turned to dust.

          I thank Thee for the care 
          That waited not my prayer;
But kindly through the ministry of woe, 
          By loss and bitter pain, 
          Hath called me back again,
To taste thy love and thy forgiveness know.

          And now, thy work complete,
          Creator ! Paraclete ! 
Thy will be done! and may that will be mine,
          Till through thy grace I win
          The victory over sin, 
And all my soul is filled with love divine.