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THE PILGRIM’S WANTS

I want that adorning divine,
Thou only, my God, canst bestow;
I want in those beautiful garments to shine,
Which distinguish thy household below.

I want—Oh! I want to attain
Some likeness, my Saviour, to Thee,
That this longed for resemblance I at once may attain,
Thy comliness put upon me!

I want to be marked for Thine own,
Thy seal on my forehead to wear;
To receive that “new name” on the mystic white stone
Which none but thyself can declare.

I want so in Thee to abide
As to bring forth some fruit to Thy praise.
The branch which thou prunest, though feeble and dried,
May languish, but never decays.

I want Thine own hand to unbind
Each tie to terrestrial things—
Too tenderly cherished, too closely entwined,
Where my heart too tenaciously clings.

I want, by my aspect serene,
My actions and words, to declare
That my treasure is safe in a country unseen—
That my heart’s best affections are there.

I want, as a traveller, to haste
Straight onward, nor pause on my way;
Nor forethought, nor anxious contrivance to waste
On the tent only pitched for a day.

I want—and this sums up my prayer—
To glorify Thee till I die;
Then calmly to yield up my soul to thy care,
And breathe out, in faith, my last sigh!—Selected

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— January 15, 1904 —