Sweet and Abundant Is This Boast

Sweet and abun­dant is this boast

Well done

thou serv­ant of the field.

My rights on earth I count as loss

For heav­en’s hope con­tains my yield.

Gavest Thou me the gos­pel seal

When once Thou sealed me as Thine own

To plant where they know not of Thee

That in Thee might this seed be grown.

This boast my flesh would still de­ny

If to its al­tar I now bend

To drink its lust or lift its pride

And wear the wreath of fall­en men.

I from Thy use shall not be cast

If Thou re­main my prize and shield

For then this boast will come at last

Well done

thou serv­ant of the field.