My song saith, ‘Win the crown;’
My guerdon saith, ‘All else is loss;’
My patience saith, ‘Be still,’
Till thou shalt lay the burden down,
Then, when I will.
Then, belovèd, the crown and palm,
And then the music and the psalm;
And the cup of joy My Hand shall fill
Till it overflow;
And with singing I strike the harp of gold