“Blessed are the poor in spirit.” Matt. 5. 3; James 2. 5
A. Steele L.M.
Ye humble souls, complain no more;
Let faith survey your future store.
How happy, how divinely blest,
The sacred words of truth attest.
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.
[A kingdom of immense delight,
Where health, and peace, and joy unite;
Where undeclining pleasures rise,
And every wish has full supplies.]
[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.]
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.
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.