Winter with The way that leads us heav’nward and How tedious and tasteless the hours

The way that leads us heav’nward
Is often rough and steep;
We struggle in the darkness,
And sometimes pause to weep;
Then comes a thought to comfort
The heart, discouraged grown,
He who trod Calv’ry’s pathway
Never will leave thee alone.

Then, thinking of the burden
He bore up Calv’ry’s hill,
We cease our weak complaining,
Our lips, for shame, are still,
And hearts that pain has tortured
Forget to make their moan,
Rememb’ring him who promised
Never to leave us alone.

Oh, soul, hast thou forgotten
The message wondrous sweet
Of him who left behind him
The print of bleeding feet?
“I never will forsake thee!
Dear child, when weary grown,
Remember I have promised
Never to leave thee alone.”

Take courage, way worn pilgrim!
Tho’ mists and shadows hide
The face of Christ who loves thee,
He’s ever at thy side.
Reach out thy hand to find him,
And lo!  the mists have flown-
He smiles, and whispers softly,
“Never to leave thee alone.”

Chorus
No, never alone,
No, never alone!
He promised never to leave thee,
Never to leave thee alone.
                      Eben E. Rexford
  How tedious and tasteless the hours,
  When Jesus no longer I see!
Sweet prospects, sweet birds, and sweet flow’rs,
  Have lost all their sweetness to me.
The midsummer sun shines but dim,
  The fields strive in vain to look gay;
But when I am happy in Him,
  December’s as pleasant as May.

  His name yields the richest perfume,
  And sweeter than music His voice;
His presence disperses my gloom,
  And makes all within me rejoice:
I should, were He always thus nigh,
  Have nothing to wish or to fear;
No mortal so happy as I,
  My summer would last all the year.

  Content with beholding His face,
  My all to His pleasure resigned,
No changes of season or place
  Would make any change in my mind.
While blessed with a sense of His love,
  A palace a toy would appear;
And prisons would palaces prove,
  If Jesus would dwell with me there.

  Dear Lord, if indeed I am Thine,
  If Thou art my sun and my song;
Say, why do I languish and pine,
  And why are my winters so long?
O drive these dark clouds from my sky,
  Thy soul-cheering presence restore;
Or take me unto Thee on high,
  Where winter and clouds are no more.

     Rev. John Newton