Fresh Corn, Zinnias with How happy is the pilgrim’s lot and Jesus, and shall it ever be

  How happy is the pilgrim’s lot,
How free from every anxious thought,
  From worldly hope and fear!
Confined to neither court nor cell,
His soul disdains on earth to dwell,
  He only sojourns here.

  This happiness in part is mine,
Already saved from low design,
  From every creature-love;
Blest with the scorn of finite good,
My soul is lightened of its load,
  And seeks the things above.

  There is my house and portion fair;
My treasure and my heart are there,
  And my abiding home;
For me my elder brother stay,
And angels beckon me away,
  And Jesus bids me come.

  “I come,” thy servant, Lord, replies,
“I come to meet thee in the skies,
  And claim my heavenly rest!
Now let the pilgrim’s journey end;
Now, O my Saviour, Brother, Friend,
  Receive me to thy breast!”
                                        John WesleyJesus, and shall it ever be,
A mortal man ashamed of Thee?
Ashamed of Thee, whom angels praise,
Whose glories shine thro’ endless days?

Ashamed of Jesus! sooner far
Let evening blush to own a star;
He sheds the beam of light divine
O’er this benighted soul of mine.

Ashamed of Jesus! that dear friend
On whom my hopes of heaven depend!
No, when I blush, be this my shame,
That I no more revere His Name.

Ashamed of Jesus! yes, I may,
When I’ve no guilt to wash away,
No tear to wipe, no good to crave,
No fear to quell, no soul to save.

Till then, nor is my boasting vain,
Till then I boast a Saviour slain;
And O, may this my glory be,
That Christ is not ashamed of me.

Joseph Grigg