How gladly would my soul retire
With thee, to spend a peaceful life,
In some sequestered humble vale,
Far from the scenes of noise and strife.
Where men should grieve our souls no more,
Nor rage of sin disturb our peace;
Our troubles, toils and sufferings o'er,
Their lies and persecutions cease.
PART SECOND.
But lo! the harvest wide extends—
The fields are white o'er all the plain—
The tares in bundles must be bound,
While we with care secure the grain.
Shall we repine when Jesus calls,
Or count the sacrifice too great,
To spend our lives as pilgrims here,
Or loose them for the gospel's sake?
When Jesus Christ has done the same,
Without a place to lay his head,
A pilgrim on the earth he came,
Until for us his blood was shed.
Shall we behold the nations doomed
To sword and famine, blood and fire,
Yet not the least exertion make,
But from the scene in peace retire?
No; while his love for me extends,
The pattern makes my duty plain—
I'll sound to earth's remotest ends,
His gospel to the sons of men!
Farewell, my kind and faithful friend,
Until we meet on earth again—
For soon our pilgrimage shall end,
And the Messiah come to reign.