Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
Henry Francis Lyte 1793–1847“Lo, We Have Left All”
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All to leave, and follow thee;
Destitude, despis’d, forsaken,
Thou, from hence, my all shalt be.
Perish every fond ambition,
All I ’ve sought and hop’d and known,
Yet how rich is my condition,
God and heaven are still my own!
They have left my Saviour, too;
Human hearts and looks deceive me;
Thou art not, like man, untrue;
And, while thou shalt smile upon me,
God of wisdom, love, and might,
Foes may hate and friends may shun me:
Show thy face, and all is bright.
Come, disaster, scorn, and pain!
In thy service pain is pleasure;
With thy favor loss is gain.
I have call’d thee Abba, Father;
I have stay’d my heart on thee:
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather,
All must work for good to me.
’T will but drive me to thy breast;
Life with trials hard may press me,
Heaven will bring me sweeter rest.
Oh, ’t is not in grief to harm me,
While thy love is left to me!
Oh, ’t were not in joy to charm me,
Were that joy unmix’d with thee!
Rise o’er sin and fear and care;
Joy to find in every station
Something still to do or bear.
Think what Spirit dwells within thee;
What a Father’s smile is thine;
What a Saviour died to win thee:
Child of heaven, shouldst thou repine?
Arm’d by faith, and wing’d by prayer;
Heaven’s eternal day’s before thee,
God’s own hand shall guide thee there.
Soon shall close thy earthly mission,
Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days,
Hope soon change to glad fruition,
Faith to sight, and prayer to praise!