Classic Poem

The feast of life is sweet:
I am no weary guest;”
But joyful at my Saviour's feet
I heed his high behest.
I eat the living bread,
I quaff the draught divine;
And love within my heart is shed,
And light doth round me shine.

'Tis sweet to taste his love
Whom cross-crowned Calvary knew;
Sweet to look hopefully above,
Where soon we hope to go.
My soul feeds on thy word,
And strength receives from thee:
I weary not of thee, my Lord;
Oh, weary not of me!

When in thy presence blest,
From sorrow free I stand,
See thee with John upon thy breast,
And Paul at thy right hand,
Oh, with exultant joy,
My Master, I shall sing!
Thy praise shall be my soul's employ,
Till heaven's high arch shall ring.

For, at the heavenly feast
Where thy new wine is poured,
I ne'er shall be a weary guest,
Since thou art there, my Lord.
Sweet to my sin-freed soul
The bliss I then shall share;
Sweet are the foretastes now to me,
While yet a pilgrim here.

Like glimpses fair and bright
Seen through the morning mist,
So to my faith's cloud-piercing sight
Appears the land of rest.
Calmly I wait thine hour,
Yet stand with ready feet,
To heed thy call to that bright shore,
Thy face, my Lord, to greet.

A pilgrim weak am I,
And oft from thee I stray;
But oh, I would reach yonder sky,
I would be thine alway!
Still at the feast of life,
For strength let me sit down,
Till victor, through thee, in the strife,
I wear the conqueror's crown.