Many crowd the Saviour’s kingdom,
Few receive His Cross.
Many seek His consolation,
Few will suffer loss,
For the dear sake of the Master,
Counting all but dross.
Many sit at Jesus’ table,
Few will fast with Him,
When the sorrow cup of anguish
Trembles to the brim:
Few watch with Him in the garden
Who have sung the hymn.
But the souls who love Him truly
Both in woe and bliss,
These will count their very heart’s blood
Not their own but His!
Saviour, Thou who thus hast loved me,
Give me love like this.
—Selected