I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be a pleasant road.
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Anand Thakur
I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be a pleasant road.
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I was weary and ill at ease, and my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys.
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But where each flows on unmingling, both are fruitless and in vain.
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The men are much alarmed by certain speculations about women; and well they may be
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Some pure ideal of a noble life That once seemed possible?
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We always may be what we might have been.
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One of these lives is a fancy, But the other one is true.
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Do not look at life’s long sorrow; see how small each moment’s pain.
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Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife, / Some pure idea of a noble life / That once seemed possible?
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Hours are golden links, God’s token Reaching heaven; but one by one Take them
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But still our place is kept, and it will wait, Ready for us to fill it, soon or late.
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On her charm’d way But hasten to her task of beauty Scarcely yet begun.
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Did we not hear The flutter of its wings, and feel it near, And just within our reach? It was.
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Every word man’s lips have uttered Echoes in God’s skies.
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One by one bright gifts from heaven Joys are sent thee here below
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Dreams grow holy put in action.
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