Some times I see in quiet, thoughtful hours Adown the winding journey of the years, Beyond a valley full of faded flowers Whose petals still are wet with human tears, An open door that looms beside the way, And many weary pilgrims entering where A glad face waits to welcome them alway, And then I know my Father’s house is there. I care not whether it be built of gold, With pearly gates and shining sapphire walls, Or whether it be humble, low, and old, With footworn thresholds and with homely halls. I only ask that when my feet have pressed The journey through, and I have come alone Unto my Father’s house, that I may rest Among the loved and lost, and feel at home. Hope (1909) When every flower has shed its bloom Afar upon life’s changing ground, And in the chilling autumn gloom Their leaves are drifted all around. One blossom still will lift its eyes Unto the changeless summer skies. When life’s poor lyre has ceased to play, When faith and love no longer sing, Still through the shades of closing day Will tremble one unbroken string To make life’s music still ascend In harmony unto the end. Oh, flower of hope with deathless hue, Oh, song of hope, unsilenced still, Beyond the vast, eternal blue Ye shine and echo on until The journey’s ended and the way Leads into God’s eternal day. The King (1909) When the King came He was so like His own, they knew Him not; And cast in ways of poverty His lot. There was no blazoned heraldry of fame When the King came. When the King died Not many wept. The memory of His years Did not bring many blossoms dewed with tears Unto the new tomb in the mountainside, When the King died. When the King rose ’Twas not to go to some far distant land, Nor yet to dwell within a palace grand, ’Twas to the palace of the hearts of men He rose again. Battle Hymn (1914) The world has seen from age to age Two marshaled hosts upon the plain Each other in a war engage, And strew the years with heroes slain; And though they seem at times to fail, The hosts of God shall still prevail. Between the hosts of right and wrong The conflict long has raged afield. It still must rage, however long, Till one shall see the other yield. But, though a countless horde assail, The hosts of God shall still prevail. The days of blood are in the past, And gone the conflict of the sword. Unseen the lines of war are cast Against the armies of the Lord. But, though their words be fiery hail, The hosts of God shall still prevail. By night and day the conflict goes, Unheard, unseen, but great and real; And back and forth God’s friends and foes Contend for this world’s woe or weal. Fear not their weapons nor their mail, For we shall see God’s hosts prevail.