O, What I Owe To

I Think It Is Possible On Earth To Build A Young, New Jerusalem, A Little, New Heaven Of This Surpassing Love. God, Either Send Me More Of This Love, Or Take Me Quickly Over The Water, Where I May Be Filled With His Love.

When We Shall Come Home, And Enter Into The Possession Of Our Brother's Fair Kingdom, And When Our Heads Shall Find The Weight Of The Eternal Crown Of Glory, Then We Shall Look Back To Pains And Sufferings And Then We Will See Life And Sorrow To Be Less Than One Step Or Stride From A Prison To Glory. Our Little Inch Of Time-suffering Is Not Worthy Of Our First Night's Welcome-home To Heaven.

When The Race Is Ended, And The Play Is Either Won Or Lost, And Ye Are In The Utmost Circle And Border Of Time, And Shall Put Your Foot Within The March Of Eternity, All The Good Things Of Your Short Nightdream Shall Seem To You Like Ashes Of A Blaze Of Thorns Or Straw.

When I Look To My Guiltiness, I See That My Salvation Is One Of Our Saviour's Greatest Miracles, Either In Heaven Or Earth.

Those Who Can Take That Crabbed Tree Handsomely Upon Their Back, And Fasten It On Cannily, Shall Find It Such A Burden As Wings Unto A Bird, Or Sails To A Ship.