To pray as Jesus prayed,
When faithless brethren sleep,—
To weep the ruin sin has made—
The only ones that weep,—
To bear the heavy cross,—
To toil, yet murmur not,—
To suffer pain, reproach, and loss,—
Be such our earthly lot.

Yet oh, how richly blest
The Master's cup to share,—
The aching grief that wrung His breast,—
His broken-hearted prayer,—
If thus we may but gain
One sheaf of golden wheat
Gleaned from Earth's sultry harvest-plain,
To lay at His dear feet!—

If thus we may but win
One precious earthly gem
Snatched from the mire of vice and sin,
For His rich diadem!—
Here, sorrow, patience, prayer;
In Heaven, the rich reward!
Here, the sharp thorns, the cross,—and there
"Forever with the Lord"!