Few receive His Cross,
Many seek His consolation,
Few will suffer loss,
For the dear sake of the Master,
Counting all but dross.
Many sit at Jesus’ table,
Few will fast with Him
When the sorrow-cup of anguish
Trembles to the brim-
Few watch with Him in the garden
Who have sung the hymn.
Many will confess His wisdom,
Few embrace His shame,
Many, should He smile upon them,
Will His praise proclaim;
Then, if for awhile He leave them,
They desert His Name.
But the souls who love Him truly
Whether for woe or bliss,
These will count their truest heart’s blood
Not their own but His:
Saviour, Thou who thus hast loved me,
Give me love like this.
—Amy Carmichael
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