Give us grace and strength to forbear and to persevere. Give us

When Robert Louis Stevenson, the great Scottish novelist and poet, wrote, “Give us grace and strength to forbear and to persevere. Give us courage and gaiety and the quiet mind, spare to us our friends, soften to us our enemies,” he was not merely crafting a prayer — he was composing a hymn to the human spirit. These words, spoken from a heart acquainted with suffering, are both humble and profound. They express the eternal longing of humankind: to endure life’s trials with grace, to persist with strength, to face fear with courage, to keep joy alive amid sorrow, and to dwell in peace even among conflict. It is a prayer not for miracles, but for virtue — the inner fortitude that allows one to live nobly in a world of both beauty and pain.

To understand the depth of Stevenson’s words, one must remember the life from which they came. Though celebrated for adventure tales like Treasure Island and Kidnapped, Stevenson was a man who lived in near-constant battle with illness. His frail body was often wracked by tuberculosis, forcing him to wander across continents seeking climates that might ease his pain. Yet through all his trials, he remained radiant with wit, kindness, and an almost divine optimism. His prayer for grace and strength to forbear and to persevere was not written from ease, but from endurance. It was the plea of a soul that had learned that life’s true victory lies not in escaping hardship, but in bearing it with dignity.

Stevenson’s invocation for grace speaks to that mysterious quality which tempers strength with beauty — the ability to endure without bitterness, to forgive without weakness, to suffer without despair. And his call for strength is not for brute endurance, but for the inner power to continue in goodness despite fatigue, doubt, and sorrow. These two virtues together — grace and strength — form the foundation of a heroic soul. For there is no greatness without the capacity to endure, and no holiness without the ability to forgive. The ancients knew this well; they spoke of fortitudo et pietas — the harmony of courage and compassion. Stevenson, though born centuries later, sang that same ancient truth in his prayer.

But he adds another element often forgotten by those who suffer — gaiety, the bright spirit of joy that refuses to be extinguished even in darkness. To pray for gaiety amid life’s sorrows is to seek not shallow amusement, but the deep, resilient laughter of the heart — the joy that comes from gratitude, from wonder, from the quiet knowledge that life, for all its trials, is still a gift. Stevenson himself was known for his humor and warmth even in his sickbed; he could make others smile while his own body trembled in pain. That was his courage, not in the battlefield sense, but in the spiritual sense — the courage to remain human, hopeful, and kind when the world grows cruel.

And then comes his plea for “the quiet mind.” This is perhaps the rarest blessing of all. The quiet mind does not mean the absence of thought, but the presence of peace. It is the mind freed from the storm of resentment and fear. To possess such stillness is to walk through life unshaken, to act without haste, to listen deeply, and to rest in faith rather than anxiety. Stevenson understood that the human heart cannot survive the world’s chaos without this inner sanctuary. For the world will always demand much — it will wound, deceive, and test — but the one who carries peace within cannot be destroyed from without.

Then he prays, “Spare to us our friends, soften to us our enemies.” How rare and beautiful is such a prayer! It does not ask for triumph over enemies, but for their softening — for the transformation of conflict into understanding. Stevenson’s heart was not one that sought conquest, but reconciliation. He knew that friendship is one of life’s holiest gifts — a mirror of divine love — and that even enemies, when understood with compassion, can become teachers. His prayer reminds us that the true victory in life is not dominance, but harmony: to love and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven.

Consider the example of Abraham Lincoln, who lived through a nation’s war and bore its sorrows with a heart as weary as Stevenson’s body. Lincoln, too, prayed for the quiet mind, for courage, for grace. When the Civil War ended, he refused vengeance against his foes, saying instead, “With malice toward none, with charity for all.” His forgiveness, like Stevenson’s, was born of spiritual vision — the wisdom to see that hatred binds humanity in chains, while compassion sets it free. Grace and strength, courage and peace, mercy and joy — these are the pillars upon which both men built their lives.

So, my listener, take these words of Stevenson into your heart, not as poetry only, but as a way of being. Pray for grace and strength, not to escape suffering, but to grow through it. Seek courage and gaiety, that you may shine even in shadow. Cultivate a quiet mind, so that peace may dwell where noise once reigned. Cherish your friends, for they are your chosen family; and forgive your enemies, for they are the measure of your compassion.

For life, as Stevenson knew, is a voyage through tempests — but those who carry grace in their hearts, strength in their will, laughter in their spirit, and peace in their mind shall reach the far shore unbroken. Such souls become the quiet lights of the world, teaching all who follow that endurance crowned with love is the highest form of victory.