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.
Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be, As more of heaven in each we see: Some softening gleam of love and prayer Shall dawn on every cross and care.
As for some dear familiar strain Untired we ask, and ask again. Ever, in its melodious store, Finding a spell unheard before.
Such is the bliss of souls serene, When they have sworn and steadfast mean, Counting the cost, in all to espy Their God, in all themselves deny.
O could we learn that sacrifice, What lights would all around us rise! How would our hearts with wisdom talk Along life's dullest, dreariest walk!
We need not bid, for cloister'd cell, Our neighbor and our work farewell, Nor strive to wind ourselves too high For sinful man beneath the sky:
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.
Seek we no more; content with these, Let present rapture, comfort, ease, As heaven shall bid them, come and go:-- The secret this of rest below.
Only, O Lord, in Thy dear love Fit us for perfect rest above; And help us, this and every day, To live more nearly as we pray.
'Tis first the true and then the beautiful,-- Not first the beautiful and then the true; First the wild moor, with rock and reed and pool, Then the gay garden, rich in scent and hue.
'Tis first the good and then the beautiful,-- Not first the beautiful and then the good; First the rough seed, sown in the rougher soil, Then the flower-blossom, or the branching wood.
Not first the glad and then the sorrowful,-- But first the sorrowful, and then the glad; Tears for a day,--for earth of tears is full, Then we forget that we were ever sad.
Not first the bright, and after that the dark,-- But first the dark, and after that the bright; First the thick cloud, and then the rainbow's arc, First the dark grave, then resurrection-light.
'Tis first the night,--stern night of storm and war,-- Long nights of heavy clouds and veiled skies; Then the far sparkle of the Morning-star, That bids the saints awake and dawn arise.