sunday song

Jesus, I my cross have taken, 

All to leave and follow Thee; 

Destitute, despised, forsaken, 

Thou from hence my all shalt be: 

Perish every fond ambition, 

All I’ve sought or hoped or known; 

Yet how rich is my condition, 

God and heav’n are still my own!

Let the world despise and leave me, 

They have left my Savior, too.

Human hearts and looks deceive me;

Though art not, like them, untrue.

O while Thou dost smile upon me,

God of wisdom, love and might,

Foes may hate and friends disown me, 

Show Thy face and all is bright

Man may trouble and distress me, 

‘Twill but drive me to Thy breast; 

Life with trials hard may press me, 

Heav’n will bring me sweeter rest. 

O ‘tis not in grief to harm me, 

While Thy love is left to me; 

O ‘twere not in joy to charm me, 

Were that joy unmixed with Thee. 

Hasten on from grace to glory, 

Armed by faith and winged by prayer; 

Heav’n’s eternal days before me, 

God’s own hand shall guide me there. 

Soon shall close my earthly mission, 

Swift shall pass my pilgrim days, 

Hope shall change to glad fruition, 

Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.

Words by Henry F. Lyte, Music by Jeff Bourque