MY Saviour drank, when here below,
A cup of sorrow and of woe;
But mine with blessings doth o’erflow!
My Saviour’s head with thorn was crown’d,
His honor trampled on the ground;
But I a priestly crown have found!
My Saviour’s face―that face divine―
Was marl and spit upon by man,
That mine with joy and peace might shine!
His hands and feet were pierced through,
And, with the spear, his body too;
But mine are free His work to do!
My Saviour’s griefs and stripes, how great!
His sufferings who can e’er relate?
But I need bear no heavy weight.
* * * * * *
Oh, let me, then, with joy pursue
My happy path, and keep in view
The prize my Lord to faith doth show.
Abound, my soul, in faith and love;
The doings of thy God approve
Which fit thee for thy home above.
Shun not the Saviour’s cross and shame;
But spread the virtues of His name
And tell His everlasting fame.
‘Tis but a little season here,
To walk and serve in godly fear;
But ‘tis eternal ages there!
Spend, then, thy “little while” below,
The praises of thy God to show,
And day by day in grace to grow.
With Christ already thou art one,
And life eternal is begun!
Which shall endure when time is done.