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Maltbie Davenport Babcock

No Dist­ant Lord Have I

No distant Lord have I,
Loving afar to be;
Made flesh for me, He cannot rest
Until He rests in me.

Brother in joy and pain,
Bone of my bone was He;
More intimate and closer still—
He dwells Himself in me.

I need not journey far
This dearest Friend to see;
Companionship is always mine;
He makes His home with me.

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Be Strong!

Be strong!
We are not here to play, to dream, to drift;
We have hard work to do and loads to lift;
Shun not the struggle, face it, ’tis God’s gift.
Be strong, be strong, be strong!

Be strong!
Say not the days are evil—who’s to blame?
And fold the hands and acquiesce—O shame!
Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in God’s Name.
Be strong, be strong, be strong!

Be strong!
It matters not how deep entrenched the wrong,
How hard the battle goes, the day, how long;
Faint not, fight on! Tomorrow comes the song.
Be strong, be strong, be strong!

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When the Great Sun Sinks to His Rest

When the great sun sinks to his rest,
His golden glories thrilling me,
And voiceless longings stir my breast,
Then teach me, Lord, to worship Thee.

And when the stars—the daylight fled—
In serried, shining ranks I see,
Filling the splendid vault o’erhead,
Then teach me, Lord, to worship Thee.

Or if in solemn forest shades
The calm of nature steals o’er me,
And silence all my soul pervades,
Then teach me, Lord, to worship Thee.

Not in the sacred shrines alone,
Which chime their summons unto me,
Would I look upward to Thy throne,
But everywhere would worship Thee.

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This is my Father’s World

This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father’s world, the birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world: He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Father’s world. O let me ne’er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world: the battle is not done:
Jesus Who died shall be satisfied,
And earth and Heav’n be one.

This is my Father’s world, dreaming, I see His face.
I ope my eyes, and in glad surprise cry, “The Lord is in this place.”

[...] Read more

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