I’ve been enjoying this read: The Shaping of the Christian Family – How My Parents Nurtured My Faith, by Elisabeth Elliot. She mentions this poem that her mother had, called “Doe the Nexte Thynge”. Maybe someone can explain the extra silent E…. meanwhile please enjoy the poem! Elliot described it as a poem that ” Mother found greatly comforting and fortifying in all kinds of circumstances, especially the kind that would tend toward the paralysis that self-pity brings”.
From an old English parsonage down by the sea
There came in the twilight a message to me;
Its quaint Saxon legend, deeply engraven,
Hath, it seems to me, teaching from Heaven.
And on through the doors the quiet words ring
Like a low inspiration: “DOE THE NEXTE THYNGE.”
Many a questioning, many a fear,
Many a doubt, hath its quieting here.
Moment by moment, let down from Heaven,
Time, opportunity, and guidance are given.
Fear not tomorrows, child of the King,
Trust them with Jesus, doe the nexte thynge.
Do it immediately, do it with prayer;
Do it reliantly, casting all care;
Do it with reverence, tracing His hand
Who placed it before thee with earnest command.
Stayed on Omnipotence, safe ‘neath His wing,
Leave all results, doe the nexte thynge
Looking for Jesus, ever serener,
Working or suffering, be thy demeanor;
In His dear presence, the rest of His calm,
The light of His countenance be thy psalm,
Strong in His faithfulness, praise and sing.
Then, as He beckons thee, doe the nexte thynge.