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.
III.
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.