Trim My Sails

Some more sailing thoughts...
from George MacDonald's Diary of an Old Soul:

Doubt swells and surges, with swelling doubt behind!

My soul in storm is but a tattered sail,

Streaming its ribbons on the torrent gale;

In calm, 'tis but a limp and flapping thing:

Oh, swell it with thy breath; make it a wing,

To sweep through thee the ocean, with thee the wind

Nor rest until in thee its haven it shall find.

'Tis--shall thy will be done for me--or mine,

And I be made a thing not after thine--

My own, and dear in paltriest details?

Shall I be born of God, or of mere man?

Be made like Christ, or on some other plan?

I let all run--set thou and trim my sails;

Home then my course, let blow whatever gales.

- entries from January 12th and February 21st