Classic Poem

'T IS heavy, Lord, the cross thou gavest me:
I scarce can bear it on my weary way. "
So sighed a weary pilgrim; but an angel sang,
" Strength shall be given equal to thy day. "

Onward he toiled, that pilgrim worn and sad:
The cross seemed heavier as he bent him down.
Then angels whispered, " Look up, and be glad;
For every cross shall change into a crown. "

He heard the whisper, so like music sweet;
His faith the promise grasped; with lifted eye
He saw the green fields for his weary feet,
Where the still streams of peace flow gently by.

" Forgive my murmur, " then the pilgrim cried,
" And let the cross be heavy if thou wilt:
I'll think of him who once on Calvary died,
And of the cross he bore for human guilt.

" His was the greatest cross, and his will be
The brightest crown all future ages through.
O blessed Saviour! make me like to thee,
Patient and trustful, till thy face I view. "

Lo! as he prayed, his cross began to shine
With lustre like an angel's radiant wing,
And in his soul he felt a peace divine:
" The cross and crown are one, " he then could sing.

'Tis sweet to bear the cross in duty's path;
'Tis bliss to suffer for the cause of Truth;
To faithful souls is heaven begun on earth,
And hopeful pilgrims share eternal youth.