One part, one little part, we dimly scan, Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream; Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan, If but that little part incongruous seem. Nor is that part, perhaps, what mortals deem, Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise. O then renounce that impious self-esteem That aims to trace the secrets of the skies; For thou art but of dust, be humble and be wise.
O humble me! I cannot bide the joy That in my Saviour's presence ever flows; May I be lowly, lest it may destroy The peace his childlike spirit ever knows. I would not speak thy word, but by thee stand While thou dost to thine erring children speak; O help me but to keep his own command, And in my strength to feel me ever weak; Then in thy presence shall I humbly stay, Nor lose the life of love he came to give; And find at last the life, the truth, the way To where with him thy blessed servants live; And walk forever in the path of truth-- A servant, yet a son; a sire and yet a youth.
This is the highest learning, The hardest and the best-- From self to keep still turning, And honor all the rest.
If one should break the letter, Yea, spirit of command, Think not that thou art better; Thou may'st not always stand!
We all are weak--but weaker Hold no one than thou art; Then, as thou growest meeker, Higher will go thy heart.
In proud humility a pious man went through the field; The ears of corn were bowing in the wind, as if they kneeled; He struck them on the head, and modestly began to say, "Unto the Lord, not unto me, such honors should you pay."
Moses, the patriot fierce, became The meekest man on earth, To show us how love's quickening flame Can give our souls new birth.
Moses, the man of meekest heart, Lost Canaan by self-will, To show, where grace has done its part, How sin defiles us still.
Thou who hast taught me in thy fear, Yet seest me frail at best, Oh, grant me loss with Moses here, To gain his future rest.
Let praise devote thy work, and skill employ Thy whole mind, and thy heart be lost in joy. Well-doing bringeth pride; this constant thought Humility, that thy best done is naught. Man doeth nothing well, be it great or small, Save to praise God; but that hath savèd all. For God requires no more than thou hast done, And takes thy work to bless it for his own.