| |
| MY heart is resting, O my God,— | |
| I will give thanks and sing; | |
| My heart is at the secret source | |
| Of every precious thing. | |
| Now the frail vessel Thou hast made | 5 |
| No hand but Thine shall fill— | |
| For the waters of the earth have failed, | |
| And I am thirsty still. | |
| |
| I thirst for springs of heavenly life, | |
| And here all day they rise— | 10 |
| I seek the treasure of Thy love, | |
| And close at hand it lies. | |
| And a “new song” is in my mouth | |
| To long-loved music set— | |
| Glory to Thee for all the grace | 15 |
| I have not tasted yet. | |
| |
| Glory to Thee for strength withheld, | |
| For want and weakness known— | |
| And the fear that sends me to Thy breast | |
| For what is most my own. | 20 |
| I have a heritage of joy | |
| That yet I must not see; | |
| But the hand that bled to make it mine | |
| Is keeping it for me. | |
| |
| There is a certainty of love | 25 |
| That sets my heart at rest— | |
| A calm assurance for to-day, | |
| That to be poor is best; | |
| A prayer reposing on His truth | |
| Who hath made all things mine, | 30 |
| That draws my captive will to Him, | |
| And makes it one with Thine. | |
| |
| I will give thanks for suffering now, | |
| For want and toil and loss— | |
| For the death that sin makes hard and slow | 35 |
| Upon my Saviour’s cross— | |
| Thanks for the little spring of love | |
| That gives me strength to say, | |
| “If they will leave me part in Him, | |
| Let all things pass away.” | 40 |
| |
| Sometimes I long for promised bliss, | |
| But it will not come too late— | |
| And the songs of patient spirits rise | |
| From the place wherein I wait; | |
| While in the faith that makes no haste | 45 |
| My soul has time to see | |
| A kneeling host of Thy redeemed, | |
| In fellowship with me. | |
| |
| There is a multitude around | |
| Responsive to my prayer; | 50 |
| I hear the voice of my desire | |
| Resounding everywhere. | |
| But the earnest of eternal joy | |
| In every prayer I trace; | |
| I see the glory of the Lord | 55 |
| On every chastened face. | |
| |
| How oft, in still communion known, | |
| Those spirits have been sent | |
| To share the travail of my soul, | |
| Or show me what it meant! | 60 |
| And I long to do some work of love | |
| No spoiling hand could touch, | |
| For the poor and suffering of Thy flock | |
| Who comfort me so much. | |
| |
| But the yearning thought is mingled now | 65 |
| With the thankful song I sing; | |
| For thy people know the secret source | |
| Of every precious thing. | |
| The heart that ministers for Thee | |
| In Thy own work will rest; | 70 |
| And the subject spirit of a child | |
| Can serve Thy children best. | |
| |
| Mine be the reverent, listening love | |
| That waits all day on Thee, | |
| With the service of a watchful heart | 75 |
| Which no one else can see— | |
| The faith that, in a hidden way | |
| No other eye may know, | |
| Finds all its daily work prepared, | |
| And loves to have it so. | 80 |
| |
| My heart is resting, O my God, | |
| My heart is in Thy care— | |
| I hear the voice of joy and health | |
| Resounding everywhere. | |
| “Thou art my portion,” saith my soul, | 85 |
| Ten thousand voices say, | |
| And the music of their glad Amen | |
| Will never die away. | |
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