Those eternal bowers
Man hath never trod,
Those unfading flowers
Round the throne of God;
Who may hope to gain them
After weary fight?
Who at length attain them,
Clad in robes of white?

He who wakes from slumber
At the Spirit s voice,
Daring here to number
Things unseen his choice;
He who casts his burden
Down at Jesus Cross,
Christ's reproach his guerdon,
All beside but loss.

He who gladly barters
All on earthly ground
He who like the martyrs
Says: "I will be crowned.
He whose one oblation
Is a life of love,
Knit in God's salvation
To the blest above.

Shame upon you, legions
Of the heav’nly King
Citizens of regions
Past imagining
What, with pipe and tabor
Dream away the light!
When he bids you labour
When he tells you "Fight"

Jesu, Lord of glory,
As we breast the tide,
Whisper thou the story
Of the other side;
Where the saints are casting
Crowns before thy feet,
Safe for everlasting
In thyself complete.