The Ministry of Song - A Selection of Poems
by Frances Ridley Havergal (1836-1879)

Jesus, Master, whose I am,
  Purchased Thine alone to be,
By Thy blood, O spotless Lamb,
  Shed so willingly for me;
Let my heart be all Thine own,
Let me live to Thee alone.

Other lords have long held sway;
  Now, Thy name alone to bear,
Thy dear voice alone obey,
  Is my daily, hourly prayer.
Whom have I in heaven but Thee?
Nothing else my joy can be.

Jesus, Master! I am Thine;
  Keep me faithful, keep me near;
Let Thy presence in me shine
  All my homeward way to cheer.
Jesus! at Thy feet I fall,
Oh, be Thou my All-in-all.
—Frances R. Havergal (1836-1879)

Yes! He knows the way is dreary,
  Knows the weakness of our frame,
Knows that hand and heart are weary;
  He, 'in all points,' felt the same.
He is near to help and bless;
Be not weary, onward press.

Look to Him who once was willing
  All His glory to resign,
That, for thee the law fulfilling,
  All His merit might be thine.
Strive to follow day by day
Where His footsteps mark the way.

Look to Him, the Lord of Glory,
  Tasting death to win thy life;
Gazing on 'that wondrous story,'
  Canst thou falter in the strife?
Is it not new life to know
That the Lord hath loved thee so?

Look to Him who ever liveth,
  Interceding for His own:
Seek, yea, claim the grace He giveth
  Freely from His priestly throne.
Will He not thy strength renew
With His Spirit's quickening dew?

Look to Him, and faith shall brighten,
  Hope shall soar, and love shall burn;
Peace once more thy heart shall lighten;
  Rise! He calleth thee, return!
Be not weary on thy way
Jesus is thy strength and stay.
  —Frances R. Havergal (1836-1879)

'This same Jesus!' Oh! how sweetly
  Fall those words upon the ear,
Like a swell of far off music,
  In a nightwatch still and drear!

He who healed the hopeless leper,
  He who dried the widow's tear;
He who changed to health and gladness
  Helpless suffering, trembling fear;

He who wandered, poor and homeless,
  By the stormy Galilee;
He who on the night-robed mountain
  Bent in prayer the wearied knee;

He who spake as none had spoken,
  Angel-wisdom far above,
All-forgiving, ne'er upbraiding,
  Full of tenderness and love;

He who gently called the weary,
  'Come and I will give you rest!'
He who loved the little children,
  Took them in His arms and blest;

  'Neath our sin-cursed bending low;
By His faithless friends forsaken
   In the darkest hours of woe;--

'This same Jesus!' When the vision
  Of that last and awful day
Bursts upon the prostrate spirit,
  Like a midnight lightning ray;

When, else dimly apprehended,
  All its terrors seem revealed.
Trumpet-knell and fiery heavens,
  And the books of doom unsealed;

Then, we lift our hearts adoring
  'This same Jesus,' loved and known,
Him, our own most gracious Saviour,
  Seated on the great white Throne;

He Himself, and 'not another,'
  He for whom our heart-love yearned
Through long years of twilight waiting,
  To His ransomed ones returned!

For this word, O Lord, we bless Thee,
  Bless our Master's changeless name;
Yesterday, to-day, for ever,
  Jesus Christ is still the Same.
  —Frances R. Havergal (1836-1879)

'As thy day thy strength shall be!'
This should be enough for thee;
He who knows thy frame will spare
Burdens more than thou canst bare.

When thy days are veiled in night,
Christ shall give thee heavenly light;
Seem they wearisome and long,
Yet in Him thou shalt be strong.

Cold and wintry though they prove,
Thine the sunshine of His love;
Or, with fervid heat oppressed,
In His shadow thou shalt rest.

When thy days on earth are past,
Christ shall call thee home at last.
His redeeming love to praise,
Who hath strengthened all thy days.
—Frances R. Havergal (1836-1879)

Leave behind earth's empty pleasure,
  Fleeting hope and changeful love;
Leave its soon-corroding treasure;
  There are better things above.

Leave, oh, leave thy fond aspirings,
  Bid thy restless heart be still;
Cease, oh cease, thy vain desirings,
  Only seek thy Father's will.

Leave behind thy faithless sorrow,
  And thine every anxious care;
He who only knows the morrow
  Can for thee its burden bear.

Leave behind the doubting spirit,
  And thy crushing load of sin;
By thy mighty Saviour's merit,
  Life eternal thou shalt win.

Leave the darkness gathering o'er thee,
  Leave the shadow-land behind;
Realms of glory lie before thee;
  Enter in, and welcome find.
  —Frances R. Havergal (1836-1879)

Who shall tell our untold need,
  Deeply felt, though scarely known!
Who the hungering soul can feed,
  Guard, and guide, but God alone?
Blessed promise! while we see
Earthly friends must powerless be,
Earthly fountains quickly dry:
'God' shall all your need supply.

He hath said it! so we know
  Nothing less can we receive.
Oh that thankful love may glow
  While we restfully believe,--
Ask not how, but trust Him still;
Ask not when, but wait His will:
Simply on His word rely,
God 'shall' all your need supply.

Through the whole of life's long way,
  Outward, inward need we trace;
Need arising day by day,
  Patience, wisdom, strength, and grace.
Needing Jesus most of all,
Full of need, on Him we call;
Then how gracious His reply,
God shall 'all' your need supply!

Great our need, but greater far
  Is our Father's loving power;
He upholds each mighty star,
  He unfolds each tiny flower.
He who numbers every hair,
Earnest of His faithful care,
Gave His Son for us to die;
God shall all 'your' need supply.

Yet we often vainly plead
  For a fancied good denied,
What we deemed a pressing need
  Still remaining unsupplied.
Yet from dangers all concealed,
Thus our wisest Friend doth shield;
No good thing will He deny,
God shall all your 'need' supply.

Can we count redemption's teasure,
  Scan the glory of God's love?
Such shall be the boundless measure
  Of His blessings from above.
All we ask or think, and more,
He will give in bounteous store,
He can fill and satisfy,
God shall all your need 'supply.'

One the channel, deep and broad,
  From the Fountain of the Throne,
Christ the Saviour, Son of God,
  Blessings flow through Him alone.
He, the Faithful and the True,
Brings us mercies ever new:
Till we reach His home on high,
'God shall all your need supply.'
—Frances R. Havergal (1836-1879)