I HAVE no hymn, my brother, Upon your desk to lay, No song of holy gladness To bring to you to-day; To 'Songs of Grace and Glory' No verses sweet and new! I write not for ten thousand, I only write for you. For oh, my heart is singing A song of quiet praise To Him who has preserved you, Upholding all your ways. To Him who knows our sorrows, Who knew the orphan's heart, And sent a friend to cheer it, And act a brother's part. So I come before my Father, My hands in faith uplift, To fill your cup with gladness And every perfect gift. And may His loving-kindness Crown all with grace for grace, Till in the coming glory You stand before His face! And see with light from heaven, Clear-shining on thy ways, Each pilgrimage petition Transmuted into praise. |