I HEARD the voice of Jesus say,
Come unto me and rest;
Lay down, thou weary one, lay down
Thy head upon my breast.
I came to Jesus as I was,
Weary, and worn, and sad,
I found in him a resting-place,
And he has made me glad.
I heard the voice of Jesus say,
Behold, I freely give
The living water, — thirsty one,
Stoop down, and drink, and live.
I came to Jesus and I drank
Of that life-giving stream;
My thirst was quench'd, my soul reviv'd, And now I live in him.
I heard the voice of Jesus say,
I am this dark world's light,
Look unto me, thy morn shall rise
And all thy day be bright.
I look'd to Jesus, and I found
In him my Star, my Sun;
And in that light of life I'll walk
Till travelling days are done.
THY way, not mine, O Lord,
However dark it be !
Lead me by thine own hand,
Choose out the path for me.
Smooth let it be, or rough,
It will be still the best;
Winding or straight, it matters not,
Right onward to thy rest.
I dare not choose my lot;
I would not, if I might;
Choose thou for me, my God;
So shall I walk aright.
The kingdom that I seek
Is thine; so let the way
That leads to it be thine,
Else I must surely stray.
Take thou my cup, and it
With joy or sorrow fill,
As best to thee may seem;
Choose thou my good and ill;
Choose thou for me my friends,
My sickness or my health; Choose thou my cares for me, My poverty or wealth.
Not mine, not mine the choice,
In things or great or small; Be thou my guide, my strength, My wisdom, and my all.
'Tis evening now!
O Saviour, wilt not thou
Enter my home and heart,
Nor ever hence depart,
Even when the morning breaks,
And earth again awakes?
Thou wilt abide with me,
And I with thee.
The world is old!
Its air grows dull and cold;
Upon its aged face
The wrinkles come apace;
Its western sky is wan,
Its youth and joy are gone.
O Master, be our light,
When o'er us falls the night.
Evil is round!
Iniquities abound;
Our cottage will be lone
When the great Sun is gone;
TEACH US TO DIE
WHERE shall we learn to die?
Go, gaze with steadfast eye
On dark Gethsemane
Or darker Calvary,
Where through each lingering hour
The Lord of grace and power,
Most lowly and most high,
Has taught the Christian how to die.
When in the olive shade
His long last prayer he pray'd,
When on the cross to heaven
His parting spirit was given,
He show'd that to fulfil
The Father's gracious will,
Not asking how or why,
Alone prepares the soul to die.
No word of anxious strife,
No anxious cry for life;
By scoff and torture torn,
He speaks not scorn for scorn;
Calmly forgiving those
Who deem themselves his foes,
In silent majesty
He points the way at peace to die.
Delighting to the last
In memories of the past;
Glad at the parting meal
In lowly tasks to kneel;
Still yearning to the end
For mother and for friend;
His great humility
Loves in such acts of love to die.
Beyond his depth of woes
A wider thought arose,
Along his path of gloom,
Thought for his country's doom;
Athwart all pain and grief,
Thought for the contrite thief:
The far-stretch'd sympathy
Lives on when all beside shall die.
Bereft, but not alone,
The world is still his own;
The realm of deathless truth
Still breathes immortal youth;
Sure, though in shuddering dread,
That all is finished,
With purpose fix'd and high
The friend of all mankind must die.
Oh, by those weary hours
Of slowly-ebbing powers;
By those deep lessons heard
In each expiring word;
By that unfailing love
Lifting the soul above,
When our last end is nigh,
So teach us, Lord, with thee to die.
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