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Page 211 - Wherever in the world I am, In whatsoe'er estate, I have a fellowship with hearts To keep and cultivate, And a work of lowly love to do, For the Lord on whom I wait...
Page 303 - In my Father's house are many mansions ; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you : and if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself, that where I am, there ye may be also. And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.
Page 1 - The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask; Room to deny ourselves ; a road To bring us, daily, nearer God.
Page 11 - New mercies, each returning day, Hover around us while we pray ; New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven. If on our daily course our mind Be set to hallow all we find, New treasures still, of countless price, God will provide for sacrifice.
Page 73 - Droop not though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee ; Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee, Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee ; Rest not content in thy darkness — a clod. Work for some good, be it ever so slowly ; Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly ; Labor ! all labor is noble and holy ; Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God.
Page 73 - We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most — feels the noblest — acts the best.
Page 132 - Is styled their star ; the stone and hidden food : Three blessings wait upon them, one of which Should move — they make us holy, happy, rich. When the world's up, and every swarm abroad, Keep well thy temper, mix not with each clay...
Page 276 - The dew doth every morning fall ; And shall the dew outstrip thy Dove ? The dew, for which grass cannot call, Drop from above. Death is still working like a mole, And digs my grave at each remove : Let grace work too, and on my soul Drop from above. Sin is still hammering my heart Unto a hardness, void of love : Let suppling grace, to cross his art, Drop from above O come ! for thou dost know the way. Or if to me thou wilt not move, Remove me where I need not say — Drop from above.
Page 103 - Oh, do not thou forget, However darkly stained by sin, He is thy brother yet! Heir of the self-same heritage! Child of the self-same God! He hath but stumbled in the path Thou hast in weakness trod.