My Father’s Work.
My Father’s hand has built the earth;
My Father arched the sky;
My Father fashioned the bright sun,
And marked his course on high.
My Father counted every star,
And gave to each a place;
And to the moon a queendom rare
Within night’s shadowy space.
My Father saw my heart was sad,
My Father knew ’twas vile;
He chose to build a palace there,
And Mercy raised the pile.
My Father saw my life was dark,
My senses groped in vain;
His Sun of Righteousness arose,
And all my path was plain.
My Father saw my spirit shook,
And feared that it should stray;
His starry promises awoke
To guide me on the way.
My Father saw my soul did quail
In terror for its sin;
His mercy lit — like soft moonlight —
The Cross, and doubt gave in.
My Father saw my tears did start
For want of sympathy;
His love unveiled a Saviour’s heart —
It was enough for me.
My Father draws me to his breast;
My head leans on his heart;
His will is moulding mine to His —
We cannot ever part!
Menie Parkes, Poems, F. Cunninghame, Sydney, , pages 16-17