cottage friend, To Jesu’s love I would commend Your souls and bodies to the end Of life’s rough way; Then (death subdued) may you ascend To endless day!

THE COTTAGER’S HYMN.

I.

My food is but spare, And humble my cot, Yet Jesus dwells there And blesses my lot: Though thinly I’m clad, And tempests oft roll, He’s raiment, and bread, And drink to my soul.

II.

His presence is wealth, His grace is a treasure, His promise is health And joy out of measure. His word is my rest, His spirit my guide: In Him I am blest Whatever betide.

p. 244III.

p. 244

Since Jesus is mine, Adieu to all sorrow; I ne’er shall repine, Nor think of to-morrow: The lily so fair, And raven so black, He nurses with care, Then how shall I lack?

IV.

Each promise is sure, That shines in His word, And tells me, though poor, I’m rich in my Lord. Hence! Sorrow and Fear! Since Jesus is nigh, I’ll dry up each tear And stifle each sigh.

V.

Though prince, duke, or lord, Ne’er enter my shed, King Jesus my board With dainties does spread. Since He is my guest, For joy I shall sing, And ever be blest In Jesus my King.

VI.

With horrible din Afflictions may swell,— They cleanse me from sin, They save me from hell: They’re all but the rod Of Jesus, in love; They lead me to God And blessings above.

VII.

Through sickness and pain I flee to my Lord, Sweet comfort to gain, And health from His word; Bleak scarcities raise A keener desire, To feed on His grace, And wear His attire.

VIII.

The trials which frown, Applied by His blood, But plait me a crown, And work for my good. In praise I shall tell, When throned in my rest, The things which befell Were always the best.

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