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402

December 20 A SONG OF SLOW DEGREES

“Line upon line, line upon line; here a little, and there a little.”—Isa. xxviii. 10.

I often cannot choose but weep
To think my purpose is so brittle,
And I a watchman sometimes sleep
At duty's post and learn so little;
When Jesus, in His risen Power,
Says, “Brother, watch with Me an hour.”
I do but darkly what I ought
Or when he calls me dumbly follow,
And in my highest act or thought
I feel the richest fruit is hollow.
My feet go stumbling after Him,
And even my brightest hopes are dim.
The breastplate He has given is strong,
Harmless the bolts upon it rattle;
But yet I find the lesson long,
Though mine the prize and His the battle.
For He has done the cruel task,
And offers more than I can ask.
But, ah, I know His heavenly way
Is line on line, by jot and tittle;
Yea, if I loiter He will stay
To guide me step by step though little.
For in my blindness still he sees,
And tunes my song of slow degrees.
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