Whatever the fever, his touch can heal it; Whatever the tempest, his voice can still. There is only a rest as we seek his pleasure, There is only a rest as we choose his will. And some day, after life's fitful fever, I think we shall say, in the home on high, "If the hands that he touched but did his bidding, How little it matters what else went by!" Ah, Lord, Thou knowest us altogether, Each heart's sore sickness, whatever it be; Touch thou our hands! Let the fever leave us, And so shall we minister unto thee! JESUS OUR JOY Jesus, thou Joy of loving hearts! Thou Fount of life! thou Light of men! From the best bliss that earth imparts We turn, unfilled, to thee again. Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood; Thou savest those that on thee call; To them that seek thee thou art good, To them that find thee, all in all. We taste thee, O thou Living Bread, And long to feast upon thee still; We drink of thee, the Fountain Head, And thirst our souls from thee to fill! Our restless spirits yearn for thee Where'er our changeful lot is cast; Glad, when thy gracious smile we see, Blest, when our faith can hold thee fast. O Jesus, ever with us stay; Make all our moments calm and bright; Chase the dark night of sin away; Shed o'er the world thy holy light. --Bernard of Clairvaux, tr. by Ray Palmer. FRIEND OF SOULS O Friend of souls! how blest the time When in thy love I rest! When from my weariness I climb E'en to thy tender breast! The night of sorrow endeth there, Thy rays outshine the sun; And in thy pardon and thy care The heaven of heavens is won. The world may call itself my foe, Or flatter and allure, I care not for the world--I go To this tried friend and sure. And when life's fiercest storms are sent Upon life's wildest sea, My little bark is confident Because it holdeth thee. When the law threatens endless death Upon the awful hill, Straightway from her consuming breath My soul goes higher still-- Goeth to Jesus, wounded, slain, And maketh him her home, Whence she will not go out again, And where death cannnot come. I do not fear the wilderness-- Where thou hast been before; Nay, rather will I daily press After thee, near thee, more. Thou art my food, on thee I lean; Thou makest my heart sing; And to thy heavenly pastures green All thy dear flock dost bring. And if the gate that opens there Be dark to other men, It is not dark to those who share The heart of Jesus then. That is not losing much of life Which is not losing thee, Who art as present in the strife As in the victory.