 | Poems of home and country |  |
YE ARE NOT YOUR OWN.
Oh, not my own these verdant hills,
And fruits and flowers, and stream and wood;
But His, who all with glory fills,
Who bought me with His precious blood!
And fruits and flowers, and stream and wood;
But His, who all with glory fills,
Who bought me with His precious blood!
Oh, not my own this wondrous frame,
Its curious work, its living soul;
But His, who for my ransom came,
Slain for my sake,—He claims the whole!
Its curious work, its living soul;
But His, who for my ransom came,
Slain for my sake,—He claims the whole!
Oh, not my own, the grace that keeps
My feet from fierce temptations free!
Oh, not my own, the thought that leaps,
Adoring, blessed Lord, to Thee!
My feet from fierce temptations free!
Oh, not my own, the thought that leaps,
Adoring, blessed Lord, to Thee!
Oh, not my own! I'll soar and sing,
When life, and all its toils, are o'er;
And Thou Thy trembling lamb shalt bring
Safe home,—to wander never more!
When life, and all its toils, are o'er;
And Thou Thy trembling lamb shalt bring
Safe home,—to wander never more!
| Poems of home and country | |