IT may not come to us as we have thought.

The blessed consciousness of sins forgiven;

We may not hear a voice that shall proclaim

Our title clear to the sweet rest of heaven.

We may not see a light upon the path

Above the brightness of the noonday sun,

Whose radiance shall reveal our names enrolled

 As ransomed by the Lord’s Anointed One.

Not thus may the sweet knowledge come to us,

 That all is well with us forevermore;

Not with a flash of glory on the soul

Do all pass into life through Christ the door.

But like the winter merging into spring,

Or gently as the trees put forth their leaves,

May come to us the impulse of that life

Which God bestows on those sin truly grieves.

If we are conscious of a firm resolve

 To follow Jesus as our constant guide;

If, in prosperity or in distress,

Our hearts cling closely to the Crucified;

 If we are not ashamed to have it known

That in His service is our chief delight;

Though we may never feel the ecstasy

Which those attain who reach the mountain height;

Yet, if the hour of secret prayer be sweet,

When we hold converse with the Friend Divine.

And dear the time when with His own we meet.

For us the promise stands, “They shall be Mine.”

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