Cottage Poems eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 56 pages of information about Cottage Poems.

Cottage Poems eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 56 pages of information about Cottage Poems.

“Repent, and enter Mercy’s door,
And though you dwell in cots obscure,
All guilty, ragged, hungry, poor,
      I give in love
A crown of gold, and pardon sure,
      To each above.”

Then hear the kind, inviting voice—­
Believing in the Lord rejoice;
Your souls will hymn the happy choice
      To God on high,
Whilst joyful angels swell the noise
      Throughout the sky.

A fond farewell!—­each cottage friend,
To Jesu’s love I would commend
Your souls and bodies to the end
      Of life’s rough way;
Then (death subdued) may you ascend
      To endless day!

THE COTTAGER’S HYMN.

I.

My food is but spare,
   And humble my cot,
Yet Jesus dwells there
   And blesses my lot: 
Though thinly I’m clad,
   And tempests oft roll,
He’s raiment, and bread,
   And drink to my soul.

II.

His presence is wealth,
   His grace is a treasure,
His promise is health
   And joy out of measure. 
His word is my rest,
   His spirit my guide: 
In Him I am blest
   Whatever betide.

III.

Since Jesus is mine,
   Adieu to all sorrow;
I ne’er shall repine,
   Nor think of to-morrow: 
The lily so fair,
   And raven so black,
He nurses with care,
   Then how shall I lack?

IV.

Each promise is sure,
   That shines in His word,
And tells me, though poor,
   I’m rich in my Lord. 
Hence!  Sorrow and Fear! 
   Since Jesus is nigh,
I’ll dry up each tear
   And stifle each sigh.

V.

Though prince, duke, or lord,
   Ne’er enter my shed,
King Jesus my board
   With dainties does spread. 
Since He is my guest,
   For joy I shall sing,
And ever be blest
   In Jesus my King.

VI.

With horrible din
   Afflictions may swell,—­
They cleanse me from sin,
   They save me from hell: 
They’re all but the rod
   Of Jesus, in love;
They lead me to God
   And blessings above.

VII.

Through sickness and pain
   I flee to my Lord,
Sweet comfort to gain,
   And health from His word;
Bleak scarcities raise
   A keener desire,
To feed on His grace,
   And wear His attire.

VIII.

The trials which frown,
   Applied by His blood,
But plait me a crown,
   And work for my good. 
In praise I shall tell,
   When throned in my rest,
The things which befell
   Were always the best.

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
Cottage Poems from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.