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SITTING AT THE FEET OF JESUS.
Lose not thy privilege, silent soul;
Pour out thy sorrow at thy Saviour's feet.
What outcast spurns the hand that gives the dole?
Oh, let Him hear thy voice! to Him thy voice is sweet.
Pour out thy sorrow at thy Saviour's feet.
What outcast spurns the hand that gives the dole?
Oh, let Him hear thy voice! to Him thy voice is sweet.
SITTING AT THE FEET OF JESUS.
"One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to enquire in His temple."—Psalm xxvii. 4.
O Lord, I would not choose the way, nor place,
Nor time to serve Thee: 'tis enough to be,
To suffer, and be silent. Lo, Thy face,
While I wept here, was bent in love o'er me!
Shall I desire to serve when Thou dost teach,
And bid me listen? Better busier souls
Upbraid me, passing with the chiding speech
That many a gentler spirit oft controls,
Than I should leave Thee. Thou tender One!
In whose pure light I taste, though incomplete,
Of Thy completeness, let them "serve alone,"
So that they find me listening at Thy feet.
The sun that measures forth the glorious day
Is not more precious to the Infinite,
Than cloud that floated 'neath its beams away,
Nor time to serve Thee: 'tis enough to be,
To suffer, and be silent. Lo, Thy face,
While I wept here, was bent in love o'er me!
Shall I desire to serve when Thou dost teach,
And bid me listen? Better busier souls
Upbraid me, passing with the chiding speech
That many a gentler spirit oft controls,
Than I should leave Thee. Thou tender One!
In whose pure light I taste, though incomplete,
Of Thy completeness, let them "serve alone,"
So that they find me listening at Thy feet.
The sun that measures forth the glorious day
Is not more precious to the Infinite,
Than cloud that floated 'neath its beams away,
