Those real truths

Many crowd the Savior's Kingdom,

Few receive His Cross,

Many seek His consolation,

Few will suffer loss

For the dear sake of the Master,

Counting all but dross.

Many sit at Jesus' table,

Few will fast with Him

When the sorrow-cup of anguish

Trembles to the brim.

Few watch with Him in the garden

Who have sung the hymn.

Many will confess His wisdom.

Few embrace his shame,

Many, should He smile upon them,

Will His praise proclaim;

Then, if for a while He leave them,

They desert his Name.

But the souls who love Him truly

In woe or in sweet bliss,

These will count their truest heart's blood

Not their own, but His;

Savior, Thou Who thus hast loved me,

Give me love like this.