Roses and Other Blossoms with Unveil, O Lord, and on us shine and Jesus, I my cross have taken

  Unveil, O Lord, and on us shine
  In glory and in grace;
The gaudy world grows pale before
  The beauty of thy face.
 
  Till thou art seen, it seems to be
  A sort of fairy ground,
Where suns unsetting light the sky,
  And flowers and fruits abound.

  But when thy keener, purer beam
  Is poured upon our sight,
It loses all its power to charm,
  And what was day is night.

  Its noblest toils are then the scourge
  Which made thy blood to flow;
Its joys are but the treacherous thorns
  Which circled round thy brow.

  And thus, when we renounce for thee
  Its restless aims and fears,
The tender memories of the past,
  The hopes of coming years,-

  Poor is our sacrifice, whose eyes
  Are lighted from above;
We offer what we cannot keep
  What we have ceased to love.

John H. Newman
  Jesus, I my cross have taken,
  All to leave, and follow thee;
Naked, poor, despised, forsaken,
  Thou, from hence, my all shalt be:
Perish every fond ambition,
  All I’ve sought, and hoped, and known;
Yet how rich is my condition,
  God and heaven are still my own!

  Let the world despise and leave me,
  They have left my Saviour, too;
Human hearts and looks deceive me;
  Thou art not, like man, untrue;
And, while thou shalt smile upon me,
  God of wisdom, love, and might,
Foes may hate, and friends may shun me;
  Show thy face, and all is bright.

  Go, then, earthly fame and treasure!
  Come, disaster, scorn, and pain!
In thy service, pain is pleasure;
  With thy favor, loss is gain.
I have called thee, “Abba, Father;”
  I have stayed my heart on thee:
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather,
  All must work for good to me.

  Man may trouble and distress me,
  ‘Twill but drive me to thy breast;
Life with trials hard may press me,
  Heaven will bring me sweeter rest.
O ‘tis not in grief to harm me,
  While thy love is left to me;
O ‘twere not in joy to charm me,
  Were that joy unmixed with thee.

  Know, my soul, thy full salvation;
  Rise o’er sin, and fear, and care;
Joy to find in every station
  Something still to do or bear.
Think what Spirit dwells within thee;
  What a Father’s smile is thine;
What a Saviour died to win thee:
  Child of heaven, shouldst thou repine?

  Haste thee on from grace to glory,
  Armed by faith, and winged by prayer;
Heaven’s eternal day’s before thee,
  God’s own hand shall guide thee there.
Soon shall close they earthly mission,
  Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days,
Hope shall change to glad fruition,
  Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.

Henry F. Lyte