Classic Poem

Peace, not of earth, I ask of Thee, O God,
Peace, not in death, and yet Thy will be done;
I would not die until my soul has won
Some little grace: a barren, withered sod
My life has been, — now touch me with Thy rod,
That I may blossom, as in summer sun
Thy flowers open; pray Thee give me one
Sweet touch of peace, for I am but a clod.
I know that Thou art all and I am naught,
Yet I would show my new-found love for Thee
By days all filled with striving for thy grace.
Peace, peace, O peace! the peace which Thou hast bought
With Precious Blood for us, O give it me,
Dear Lamb of God, that I may see Thy face!