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What Shall We Wish?
Poet: Clara M. Brooks
We wish for the lands and the gold of earth;
We wish for an honored name,
For the things that we count of greatest worth,
That lead to the heights of fame.
Thus we waste our lives, and we toil in vain;
For our riches will soon decay,
And we shall stand with the judgment-train.
Oh! what shall we wish that day?
Shall we think of our little earthly hoard
And wish we had gathered more?
And sigh that the barns where it was stored
Were so small they were running o'er?
Ah! with sickening glance at the earth we trod,
We shall turn from its scenes away,
To face the great judgment bar of God.
Oh! what shall we wish that day?
We'd shall view all the millions by our side
Who never the gospel heard;
We shall think how little we cared, nor tried
To send them a single word;
We shall hear a voice like the rolling seas -
While a thorn-pierced form we shall see -
"Inasmuch as ye've done it unto these,
Ye have done it unto me."
We shall think of the good we might have done,
Had we loved our Savior more;
Of the glittering crown we might have won
Had we shared the thorns he wore.
Oh our selfishness and idle ease -
How in that day we shall see!
"Inasmuch as ye've done it unto these,
Ye have done it unto me."
Those words will pierce to the very soul
And burn like a fiery brand.
"O God! has our service been so small?"
We shall cry as there we stand.
In woe we shall think of the years then past,
Those years we spent in vain;
And the opportunities slighted, lost,
We shall wish were ours again.
We shall wish we had labored night and day
In fervent prayers and tears
That a harvest sown in faithful way,
Might be reaped in endless years;
That the hoarded store we treasured long,
Had been scattered far and wide;
Then we should not see this wailing throng
Lost, lost in the surging tide.
God help us, then, our treasures to lay
In life at Jesus' feet,
That when we face the judgment-day.
Not frowns but smiles we shall meet;
No wail nor sigh o'er treasured hoard,
Nor wishes then in vain;
Our lives all given to our Lord
Are what we shall wish they'd been. -
Thy Will Be Done
Poet: Clara M. Brooks
The eventide falls gently now
By Kedron's side, o'er Olive's brow,
And through the gloom methinks I see
A lonely form in prayer for me.
The gentle tone, through stately trees,
Is borne upon the murmuring breeze.
He bowed his head - God's only Son -
And meekly said, "Thy will be done."
In fervent prayer for you and me
He wrestled there in agony;
With drops of sweat of crimson hue
His brow was wet, as with the dew.
In tears he knelt, with troubled soul,
While there he felt death's sorrows roll;
Our sins he bore - the Holy One -
And said once more, "Thy will be done."
And then before his vision came
The crown of thorns, the cruel shame,
With scorn of those he sought to save,
The reeking cross, the silent grave.
"This bitter cup, O Lord, I pray,
Before I sup, take thou away" -
Yet answered still, as there he knelt,
"Not as I will, but as thou wilt."
Gethsemane! O sacred place!
Once more I see my Savior's face;
It shines anew with glory now,
And angels smooth his pallid brow.
Oh, let me ever this scene behold!
Oh, let me hear the story told
Of him who there the victory won,
Who said in prayer, "Thy will be done"! -
'Tis So Sweet
Poet: Clara M. Brooks
'Tis so sweet just to know,
As I with my Savior go,
If I heed every sacred command,
That when sorrows betide,
I may in the refuge hide;
He upholds me secure with his hand.
'Tis so sweet just to feel
As before him low I kneel
That he knows all my burdens and needs,
Counts each one of my tears,
Bids me cease from all my fears,
And his Spirit for me intercedes.
'Tis so sweet just to know
That my Father loves me so
He will list to my heart's faintest cry:
I will trust in his grace,
For I see his smiling face;
'Tis so sweet just to know he is nigh.
I'll rejoice in the shame
When I suffer for his name;
He will only permit what is best;
Holy angels are near
Those who walk in godly fear;
'Tis so sweet just to trust him and rest.
Oh, how sweet it will be
When my Savior I shall see,
In his presence to dwell evermore!
I will share in the loss
And reproaches of his cross
For the joy that is waiting before. -
Jesus Alone
Poet: Clara M. Brooks
I caught a glimpse of Jesus' face,
A brilliant halo o'er it shone:
Since then for earth I find no place,
I love to gaze on him alone.
The fairest pictures mortal hand
Can ever paint will not compare
With what I saw of glory grand
And radiant glow reflected there.
I heard the music of his voice,
Its sweetness lingers on my ear;
The saddest heart could but rejoice
Such heavenly melody to hear.
Since then e'en nature's sweetest notes
Have but a hollow, tinkling sound;
When through the air that music floats,
It leaves seraphic echoes round.
The fragrant perfume of his breath
Was borne by zephyr soft to me;
'Twas sweeter far than lilies bathed
In morning dew could ever be.
No longer can earth's fairest flowers
Delight my soul, nor odors please;
My soul has breathed from heaven's bowers
Celestial fragrance on the breeze.
His precious will revealed to me
Made human pleasures seem but dim;
'Twas restful more than shadowy lea,
More soothing far than vesper hymn.
Earth's softest couch and grandest throne
Are not for rest and comfort meet;
I fain his breast would lean upon,
Or sit in meekness at his feet.
Fade, fade, ye fairest charms of earth,
And you, ye brilliant shining gems
Of earthly mine, how small your worth
Compared to heaven's diadems!
My Lord is all I want or need;
Around his bright refulgent throne
I'll praise him when from earth I'm freed,
Then give me him and him alone. -
He Cares For All
Poet: Clara M. Brooks
Our Father clothes the lilies,
And feeds the ravens, too;
Take courage, little Christians,
He surely cares for you.
The beasts that roam the wild wood,
The fishes in the sea,
Are clothed and fed from heaven;
Then, Father cares for me.
The birds that sing in summer
And swing in leafy bowers,
The bees that gather honey
From all the fragrant flowers,
Are noticed by our Father;
His eyes are over all;
He even cares for sparrows,
And sees them when they fall.
Does he not love his children,
And hear them when they pray?
Yes, our dear Father listens
To all we have to say.
And while he cares for lilies,
For fishes, birds, and bees,
He cares more for his children -
Far more than for all these. -
Sweet Hour Of Prayer
Poet: Clara M. Brooks
Sweet hour of prayer! thou holdest in
Thy hand a treasure rare;
Thy charms have power to vanquish sin
And banish thoughts of care.
Within thy walls a safe retreat
Thou offerest unto all
Within thy gates - oh, rest complete
To those who on thee call!
The weary, wayworn pilgrim here
May find a rest serene;
The thirsty of thy waters clear
May drink. Its crystals sheen
A balm affords each fainting heart;
The hungry to thee led
From emptiness of earth apart
Are filled with living bread.
The secret of the heavenly throng
To him the Lord reveals
Who seeks thee oft, and lingering long
Before thine altar kneels.
O sacred dwelling, wondrous are
The gifts thou dost contain;
Thy hidden wealth is better far
Than stores of earthly gain.
For him who knoweth not thy place,
Nor seeks thy way to learn,
There waits no satisfying grace;
No joy shall he discern
In thee nor in that world above
Nor in the earth below:
Oh, wretched soul devoid of love!
Oh, life of endless woe!
Who knows the place where thou art built,
O sacred shrine of prayer,
Knows naught of sorrow, naught of guilt,
And naught of earthly care.
Finds treasures deeply buried in
Thy mines, a wealthy store;
Finds strength for battle, power to win,
Who loves thee more and more.
We bow our heads and prostrate fall
When thy sweet voice is heard;
Our spirits listen for thy call;
Within our souls is stirred
An heavenly song that answers to
Thy sweet seraphic strains.
Blessed hour of prayer! - in accents true
We join thy glad refrain.
And bowing at our Father's feet
Submissive to his will,
We hear him whisper words most sweet:
"Be still, dear heart, be still!"
Our souls triumphantly above
All thoughts of earthly care
Are borne upon thy wings of love,
O sacred hour of prayer! -
His Way
Poet: Clara M. Brooks
Teach me thy way, O Father:
Around me falls the night;
I know not where my pathway
Shall lead ere morning light.
I ask not for a sunbeam
To burst upon my sight;
Just smile, dear Lord, upon me;
My path shall then be bright.
Teach me thy way, O Father;
For mine, though fair it seemed,
Has lost its shining glimmer -
The goal of which I dreamed.
The last dim ray of sunlight
Has vanished while I roam;
How fast the darkness gathers!
In mercy lead me home.
Where dost thou, tender Shepherd,
With all thy flock abide?
I fain thy paths would follow,
Nor from thee turn aside;
For life is lonely, lonely,
Without thy presence here.
No sorrow can befall me,
O Lord, if thou art near.
As one of old requested
Thy wisdom great to know,
Than gold and honor rather
To walk in meekness low;
So Lord, that I may bring thee
The honor of my life,
Teach me thy ways of wisdom,
Amid earth's dim and strife.
Teach me to walk in meekness
And answer not a word,
E'en when accusers many
Against my soul are stirred.
As Daniel in the palace
When all were 'gainst him moved,
Oh, may I, too, be blameless
And faultless stand approved!
Oh! teach me how to conquer
In every trying hour,
And how to trust thy promise
Though dark the storm-clouds lower.
When others run, O Father,
Their anxious hearts to sate,
That I may have thy guidance
Teach me on thee to wait.
Thy life of self-denial
And sacrifice for me,
Teach me to live for others,
And thus to worship thee.
Though thou hadst not a pillow
Nor place thy head to lay,
Yet I thy steps would follow:
Oh: teach me, Lord, thy way -
Thy way of resignation
To all the Father's will;
To suffer pain and sorrow.
His purpose to fulfil;
Regarding not thy life-blood,
Nor counting dear its loss,
Nor shrinking from the suff'ring
And shame on Calv'ry's cross.
Savior draw me near thee -
Afar I can not stay -
And guide my falt'ring footsteps
Through life's long, weary day.
I catch from heaven the answer;
I hear the angels say,
"The meek will he guide in judgment
And the meek will he teach his way. "
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