TRIBUTE.
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He has been our strength in sickness, Helping us to bear our pain,Wooing oft the straying spirit To his Saviour's arms again.Yet, amid the many blessings That he brought to us each day,He has found some to deny him, Some to doubt, and some betray;He has known his own deep sorrows, Shed his bitter, secret tears;Felt the cruel thorns that rankled In his crown of well-spent years.
And when those so far beneath him Filled his heart with sorrow sore,Till the strong man bowed and quivered— Almost bled at every pore;—When they laid upon his shoulders Bitter crosses hard to bear,Then he won his crown of patience, Bright as those the martyrs wear.Like his meek and lowly Master, Never murmured, day by day,Though his weary feet were bleeding From the thorns along the way.
