Page:Poems Shipton.djvu/119

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Take thy crown, for Christ hath blessed it;
 If thy weary heart should fail,
On the Rock of Ages rest it;
 Gates of hell shall not prevail.
   Shrink not, though the world may scorn,
   Christ hath numbered every thorn.

Take it gladly, crown of glory;
 Angels, with admiring eyes,
Read redemption's wondrous story:
 Now the conflict—then the prize.
   Follow Him, whose bleeding brow
   Gave the right to wear it now.

Every tear the Saviour numbered,
 Every woe hath Jesus weighed,
Nor His love or care hath slumbered
 Since He placed it on thy head,
   Soul, by tribulation driven,
   Child of God, and heir of heaven.

O my soul! do thou surrender
 Sorrow's chaplet to His care,
For I know His love so tender:
 Not one thorn too much is there.
   Let each wound a whisper be,
   " Take thy cross and follow Me."