Classic Poem

Up, drowsy hopes and loves!
So slow to rise,
And pass above this ring of lower air,
To the wide circle of the pure and fair,
God's upper skies!

Wake, sluggish soul of mine!
So slow to break
The fond old dreams of long, long summer-bloom,
The dear deception of an earthly home; —
Awake, awake!

Laden with life's thick clay,
Clinging to dust,
Thou fightest against Him who fights for thee,
Thou claspest still thy bonds and misery; —
Yet rise thou must!

Thy treasure is above!
Dost thou repine?
Thy dross is changed to gold, thy gold to dross,
Thy loss to gain, and all thy gain to loss; —
God's wealth is thine!

Thy shelter is the cross!
Thy peace the blood;
Thy light and guide the pillar-cloud above;
Thy resting-place the everlasting love
Of God, thy God!

Thy covert is the shade
Of heavenly wings;
Thy trustiest counsellor and bosom-friend,
Who loveth, and will love thee to the end,
Is King of kings.

Foe of thy foes is He;
Thy shield and sword;
He takes thy side against the proud and strong,
He keeps thee from the spoiler's hate and wrong,
Thy God and Lord!

No ill can thee betide;
Life's shadiest mood
Brightens to sunshine in love's genial ray,
And sorrow's slowest clouds dissolve in day; —
All ill is good.

Cheer up then, silent soul,
Press blithely on;
Watch not the clouds, nor shiver in the showers,
Heed not the shadows, neither count the hours,
Till heaven be won.

Work and deny thyself;
Take up thy cross;
Follow the Master wheresoe'er He leads,
Be a disciple not in words but deeds:
Shrink not from loss.

Count well, count well the cost,
Nor grudge to pay;
Be it reproach, or toil, or pain, or strife,
Be it the loss of all, — gold, fame, and life; —
The end is day!