WHAT will it be when all the toil is ended?
When we have conquered in the last fierce strife?
When the bright portals of our home are entered?
Pilgrims no longer—heirs of endless life!
Gone the last dust our weary feet have gather'd—
Wiped the last drop from off the aching brow;
Safe in the presence of our God and Father,
Whose strength supports us in the desert now.
What will it be when the effulgent glory
Of day eternal it is ours to see?
When (for the first time in our life's short story)
Pure from all trace of sin our ways shall be.
When, of God's household, in that land elysian,
Where not a thought can mar our perfect rest,
Where not a cloud shall dim the spirit's vision;
Joint-heirs with Christ, we shall be fully blest.
What will it be to see the hidden meaning
Of every trial we have met below?
To trace the secret of our Father's training,
Where faith gained spoils from many a vanquished foe?
All that seems dark to our imperfect vision,
The light of heaven at once will render plain;
Deeper our joy through that all-wise provision -
Suffering awhile, ere with our Lord we reign.
What will it be? Oh, what no thought hath measured,
No eye hath seen, no ear of man hath heard!
Unsearchable the riches Christ hath treasur'd,
Yet all is sure to him who trusts His Word!
On then! though rough and dark the path and dreary;
All toil and pain the end will well repay!
Onward and upward! we may now be weary;
With Jesus soon, to share His home for aye!