John Bowring Poems
Death! Where Is Thy Sting?
Where is thy sting, O Death!
Grave! where thy victory?
The clod may sleep in dust beneath,
The spirit will be free!
Both Man and Time have power
O'er suffering, dying men;
But Death arrives, and in that hour
The soul is freed again.
'Tis comforting to think,
When sufferings tire us most,
In the rough stream the bark will sink,
And suff'ring's power is lost.
Then, Death! where is thy sting?
And where thy victory, Grave?
O'er your dark bourn the soul will spring
To Him who loves to save.
Thy Will Be Done
Lord! to Thy holy will I bow me,
In infantine simplicity;
O lead me, Father! nor allow me
To wander e'en a step from Thee;
For all Thy will, when understood,
Is infinitely wise and good.
And if sometimes affliction cloud it,