Poetry Archives

O Lord, how happy is the time
  When in thy love I rest!
When from my weariness I climb
  Even to thy tender breast!
The night of sorrow endeth there—
  Thou art brighter than the sun;
And in thy pardon and thy care
  The heaven of heaven is won.

Let the world call herself my foe,
  Or let the world allure—
I care not for the world; I go
  To this dear friend and sure.
And when life’s fiercest storms are sent
  Upon life’s wildest sea,
My little bark is confident
  Because it holds by thee.

When the law threatens endless death
  Upon the dreadful hill,
Straightway from her consuming breath
  My soul goeth higher still—
Goeth to Jesus, wounded, slain,
  And maketh him her home,
Whence she will not go out again,
  And where death cannot come.

I do not fear the wilderness
  Where thou hast been before;
Nay rather will I daily press
  After thee, near thee, more!
Thou art my food; on thee I lean,
  Thou makest my heart sing;
And to thy heavenly pastures green
  All thy dear flock dost bring.

And if the gate that opens there
  Be dark to other men,
It is not dark to those who share
  The heart of Jesus then:
That is not losing much of life
  Which is not losing thee,
Who art as present in the strife
  As in the victory.

Therefore how happy is the time
  When in thy love I rest!
When from my weariness I climb
  Even to thy tender breast!
The night of sorrow endeth there—
  Thou art brighter than the sun!
And in thy pardon and thy care
  The heaven of heaven is won!