Page:Poems Kimball.djvu/176

"What thou possessest, count it loss;
  It will not last!
The wealth of this world yield as dross
Hold blessings humbly; but the cross—
  The cross hold fast!"

Hot less of trial then, not more
  Of happiness
I crave, as I have craved before,
For those I pray for o'er and o'er,
  And fain would bless.

But now my fond petitions rise:
  From things of time,
Lord Jesus, turn away their eyes,
That they may see in sacrifice
  A joy sublime.

Not sacrifice of strength or ease
  Or wealth alone;
But what so far exceedeth these—
The self so eager self to please,
  And seek its own.

For Thy sweet sake in them fulfil
  This sacrifice,
And make them strong to serve Thee still,
Yea, Lord, through good report and ill,
  Whate'er the price.