Canst Thou restore, O mighty God,
The years so long gone by?
So devastated, desolate!—
In barren waste they lie.
I started out to serve Thee, Lord,
When youth's responsive hour
Gave promise that the seed then sown
Would burst forth into flower.
But oh! the barrenness of years.
No effort of my own
Can reap a harvest from the fields
The cankerworm hath mown.
The locust of my faithlessness
Hath blasted and destroyed
The harvest that in course of years
The Master had enjoyed.
Wilt Thou restore? Then, Lord, in faith
Before Thy feet I bow,
Confess to Thee my shame and loss.
Fulfill Thy promise now.
Thus cleansed and sanctified, made meet
To do the humblest task;
To be well-pleasing in Thy sight,
My Lord, is all I ask.—Mrs. G. Henderson, India
(Joel 2. 25)
And when with grief you see your brother stray,
Or in a night of error lose his way,
Direct his wandering and restore the day.
To guide his steps afford your kindest aid,
And gently pity whom you can't persuade;
Leave to avenging heaven his stubborn will,
For, O remember, he's your brother still.—Dean Swift
(Gen. 4. 9; Gal. 6. 1)