SELF-COMMUNION.
39
Howe’er my bark be tempest-tost,
May it but reach that haven fair,
May I but land and wander there,
With those that I have loved and lost;
With such a glorious hope in view,
I’ll gladly toil and suffer too.
Rest without toil I would not ask;
I would not shun the hardest task:
Toil is my glory—Grief my gain,
If God’s approval they obtain.[1]
Could I but hear my Saviour say,—
May it but reach that haven fair,
May I but land and wander there,
With those that I have loved and lost;
With such a glorious hope in view,
I’ll gladly toil and suffer too.
Rest without toil I would not ask;
I would not shun the hardest task:
Toil is my glory—Grief my gain,
If God’s approval they obtain.[1]
Could I but hear my Saviour say,—
- ↑ Cancelled reading:
Nay welcome labour, grief, and pain,
While God’s approval I can gain.
