She knew not what for them she sought,
     At His right hand and left to sit!

She knew not what for them she sought,
     At His right hand and left to sit!
How great the glory, passing thought;
     How rough the path that led to it.

They knew not what of Him they asked!
     But He their deeper sense distilled.
Gently the selfish wish unmasked,
     But all the prayer of love fulfilled.

Pride sought to lift herself on high,
     And heard but of the bitter cup;
Love would but to her Lord be nigh,
     And won her measure full—heaped up

With vision of His glory blessed;
     Stood on the mountain by His side;
Leaned, at the Supper, on His breast;
     Stood close beneath Him when He died.

One brother shared His cup of woe—
     The second of His martyr-band:
One, by His glory smitten low,
     Rose at the touch of His right hand.

Thus, when by earth’s cross lights perplexed,
     We crave the thing that should not be,
God, reading right our erring text,
     Gives what we would ask, could we see.

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