“Blessed are the poor in spirit.” Matt. 5. 3; James 2. 5
A. Steele L.M.
1
Ye humble souls, complain no more;
Let faith survey your future store.
How happy, how divinely blest,
The sacred words of truth attest.
2
In vain the sons of wealth and pride
Despise your lot, your hope deride;
In vain they boast their little stores;
Trifles are theirs, a kingdom yours.
3
[A kingdom of immense delight,
Where health, and peace, and joy unite;
Where undeclining pleasures rise,
And every wish has full supplies.]
4
[A kingdom which can ne’er decay,
While time sweeps earthly thrones away;
The state which power and truth sustain,
Unmoved for ever must remain.]
5
There shall your eyes with rapture view
The glorious Friend that died for you,
That died to ransom, died to raise
To crowns of joy and songs of praise.
6
Jesus! to thee I breathe my prayer;
Reveal, confirm my interest there;
Whate’er my humble lot below,
This, this my soul desires to know.
