J.S.B. Monsell

 

The tide of life was at its flow,
Rose higher day by day;
But he a higher life would know,
Than that which round him did lay.
O Saviour! When prosperity
Makes this world hard to leave,
And all its ‘pomps and vanity’
Their meshes round us weave.
O grant us grace, that to thy call,
We may obedient be;
And cheerfully forsaking all,
May follow only Thee! 
 

 

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