All I now desire
For will, for cause, for light.
For evil hearts why fret and tire
When God dost fight my fight.
The Lord a God of judgement is:
All they that wait are blest,
E’en they that glean not what they sow;
His justice is my rest.
Vestured in still mightier seats,
Thy pride and favour.
Yet Thou their flood, my quiet ark
Art, through my meek endeavour.
What greater sorrow than His Son
To crucify again
By men who once prostrate did vow to
By His sheep remain.
Fret not thyself, my sinful soul;
Thy Father dear dost weep
Where’er His child her brother rents
From His loving mercies deep.
by Zimin, issue 104