Oh! surely ‘tis a precious thing,
That such an one as I
Amos privileged to work and sing,
As days go fleeting by.
My heart is fixed; and patient waits
For that full hour of bliss,
When Christ His ransom’d
Bride translates From such a world as this.
This feeble tent — this fragile clay —
This “earthly house” of mine,
Which bears about, from day to day,
A treasure most divine.
Oh, give me grace Thy word to keep,
To heed Thy gracious voice;
To weep and mourn with them that weep;
And with the glad rejoice;
To comfort and support the weak;
To energize the cold;
In grace the wand’ring ones to seek,
And bring them to the fold.
Whenever danger threatens me,
Or troubles thickly flock,
My eyes are upwards unto Thee—
My feet are on the rock.
And thus I’ll labor, love, and watch,
All through the dreary night,
As one whose longing eyes would catch
The first faint streak of light.
Lord, haste that bliss without alloy,
When we shall know as known—
And share Thy consummated joy,
Thy scepter, crown, and throne!