we're blest:
We're all in the steep, narrow road
That leads to the city of rest.

"'Tis true, I must toil all the day,
And oft suffer cold through the night,
Though silvered all over with grey,
And dimly declining my sight:
And sometimes our raiment and food
Are scanty--ah! scanty indeed:
But all work together for good,
So in my blest Bible I read.

"I also have seen in that Book
(Perhaps you can tell me the place?)
How God on poor sinners does look
In pity, and gives them His grace--
Yea, gives them His grace in vast store,
Sufficient to help them quite through,
Though troubles should whelm them all o'er;
And sure this sweet promise is true!

"Yes, true as the snow blows without,
And winds whistle keen through the air,
His grace can remove every doubt,
And chase the black gloom of despair:
It often supports my weak mind,
And wipes the salt tear from my eye,
It tells me that Jesus is kind,
And died for such sinners as I.

"I once rolled in wealth, without grace,
But happiness ne'er was my lot,
Till Christ freely pitied my case,
And now I am blest in a cot:
Well knowing things earthly are vain,
Their troubles ne'er puzzle my head;
Convinced that to die will be gain,
I look on the grave as my bed.

"I look on the grave as my bed,
Where I'll sleep the swift hours away,
Till waked from their slumbers, the dead
Shall rise, never more to decay:
Then I, with my children and wife,
Shall get a bright palace above,
And endlessly clothed with life,
Shall dwell in the Eden of love.

"Then know, gentle stranger, though poor,
We're cheerful, contented, and blest;
Though princes should pass by our door
King Jesus is ever our guest;
We feel, and we taste, and we see
The pleasures which flow from our Lord,
And fearless, and wealthy, and free,
We live on the joys of His word."

He ceased: and a big tear of joy
Rolled glittering down to the ground;
Whilst all, having dropped their employ,
Were buried in silence profound;
A sweet, solemn pause long ensued--
Each bosom o'erflowed with delight;
Then heavenly converse renewed,
Beguiled the dull season of night.

We talked of the rough narrow way
That leads to the kingdom of rest;
On Pisgah we stood to survey
The King in His holiness dressed--
Even Jesus, the crucified King,
Whose blood in rich crimson does flow,
Clean washing the crimson of sin,
And rinsing i