I Cor. 3: 21. The lily blooming at thy feet To make thy spirit pure and sweet. The gladsome song of bird in air To teach a Heavenly Father's care. The grass that withers in an hour To show how brief thine earthly dower. The glories of the early dawn In daily toil to speed thee on. The light of truth, the light of day, To guide thy feet in wisdom's way. The splendors of the evening sky That tell thee thou wast born to die. The sleepless hours of songless night That ye may seek the truer light. The mind's distress, the body's pain, That work for thy eternal gain. The toil, the struggle, and the strife To chasten thee in heart and life. The deep malignity of a foe That pardon's sweetness thou mayst know. Life's disappointment and despair To win thee to the ways of prayer. The heart's unrest without surcease To make thee long for heaven's peace. All things are yours, above, beneath, The insect's chirp, the flower's breath; The grasses billowed by the breeze, The shade and solace of the trees;

The mountain peak, the laughing brook. Each vale and glen and crannied nook, Sequestered dell and flowery plain; The clouds, the sunshine, and the rain.

The blush of morn, the dewy eve. Where pearls and grasses interweave; The storm's alarm, the thunder's shock. The swelling flood, the bursting rock, The fire that sweeps away thy wealth, Disease that comes on thee by stealth; The spirit's woe, the soul's regret. The blinding tears thine eyelids wet; Things present and all things to come, All heaven's fruits, earth's little crumb; All are but ministries of grace That in God's mercy find a place In His economy of love To make us meet for worlds above. Then faint not, follower of the Lord; We have the thrice assuring word; All things are yours, angels and men. And life and death, all loss and gain; All present joys, afliiction's rods. For ye are Christ's and Christ is God's.



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