I Bow My Forehead to the Dust

I bow my fore­head to the dust

I veil mine eyes for shame

And urge

in trem­bling self dis­trust

A pray­er with­out a claim.

No of­fer­ing of mine own I have

Nor works my faith to prove;

I can but give the gifts He gave

And plead His love for love.

I dim­ly guess

from bless­ings known

Of great­er out of sight;

And

with the chast­ened psalm­ist

own

His judg­ments too are right.

And if my heart and flesh are weak

To bear an un­tried pain

The bruis­éd reed He will not break

But strength­en and sus­tain.

I know not what the fu­ture hath

Of mar­vel or sur­prise

Assured alone that life and death

His mer­cy un­der­lies.

And so be­side the si­lent sea

I wait the muf­fled oar;

No harm from Him can come to me

On ocean or on shore.

I know not where His is­lands lift

Their frond­ed palms in air;

I on­ly know I can­not drift

Beyond His love and care;

And Thou

O Lord

by whom are seen

Thy crea­tures as they be

Forgive me if too close I lean

My hu­man heart on Thee.