True Rest

TRUE REST

I thought I'd labored faithfully

And done my very best;

And so I turned aside awhile,

For just a little rest.

Then it seemed, on Sunday morning,

As I tarried there in bed;

A sad voice said, "The Son of Man,

Hath not where to lay His head".

Then I said, "I've given all I can;

Don't expect me to do more".

But the Word just seemed to shout at me,

"For your sake, He was poor."

"But oh, how much I've suffered,

In this weary, pilgrim land;

Then it seemed I saw Him silently

Hold forth a nail-scarred hand!

"But think of all the ridicule;

Why some folks even sneer!

And if anyone should ever laugh - - -

Oh, I live in daily fear!"

Then I heard, it seemed, a laughing mob;

"Crucify Him" they all cried!

I seemed to hear their cursing jeers,

While the loving Saviour died!

"But at least," I thought, "I've done as much

As some who seem asleep".

"What is that to thee?" He said

"If you love me, feed my sheep".

Then after searching heart and soul,

I knew, instead of rest

Away from service to my Lord,

I ought to give my best.

True rest is found in service,

Where the burden's truly light,

And the yoke is much more easy

When we share it with His might!

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