48 lines
2.8 KiB
HTML
48 lines
2.8 KiB
HTML
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<title>BLB Hymns</title>
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<h2>IT MAY NOT BE OUR LOT</h2>
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<p align="center"><h3>“He that in these things serveth Christ is acceptable to God.” Romans 14:18</h3></p>
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<center><b>Hymns Supplied Through the Gracious Generosity<br>of the </b><a href="http://www.hymntime.com/tch/" target = "_blank"><b>Cyber Hymnal Website</b></a><br><br><a href="./hymns/hymns_html/cyberhymnal_info.html" target = "_blank">Information about Cyber Hymnal Website</a></center>
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<center>
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<table>
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<td><img src="./hymns/hymns_img/img_w_h_whittier_jg.jpg" alt="John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)" width="100" height="156"></td>
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<td><em>Words:</em> <a href="./hymns/hymns_bio/bio_w_h_whittier_jg.html" target="_blank">John Greenleaf Whittier</a>, circa 1850. The lyrics come from Whittier’s poem “Seedtime and Harvest” in <em>Miscellaneous Poems</em>.
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<p><em>Music:</em> “Ernan,” <a href="./hymns/hymns_bio/bio_m_a_mason_l.html" target="_blank">Lowell Mason</a>, 1850 </p><p><table><tr><td><a href="./hymns/hymns_mid/mid_e_ernan.mid" target = "_blank"><img border=0 src="./hymns/hymns_img/notes.gif"><br><b>Play MIDI</b></a></td><td> </td><td><a href="./hymns/hymns_html/score_info.html" target = "_blank"><b>Link to obtain<br>musical score info</b></a></td></tr></table></p>
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<td align="center" width="181"><img src="./hymns/hymns_img/img_m_a_mason_l.jpg" alt="Lowell Mason (1792-1872)" width="120.666666666667" height="163.333333333333"><br>
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<span class="cou">Courtesy of Yale Divinity Library</span></td>
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<div class="lyrics">
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<p>It may not be our lot to wield<br>
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The sickle in the ripened field;<br>
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Nor ours to hear, on summer eves,<br>
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The reaper’s song among the sheaves.</p>
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<p>Yet where our duty’s task is wrought<br>
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In unison with God’s great thought<br>
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The near and future blend in one,<br>
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And whatsoe’er is willed, is done.</p>
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<p>And ours the grateful service whence<br>
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Comes, day by day, the recompense;<br>
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The hope, the trust, the purpose stayed,<br>
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The fountain, and the noonday shade.</p>
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<p>And were this lift the utmost span,<br>
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The only end and aim of man,<br>
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Better the toil of fields like these<br>
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Than waking dream and slotfhful ease.</p>
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<p>But life, though falling like our grain,<br>
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Like that revives and springs again;<br>
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And, early called, how blest are they<br>
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Who wait in heaven, their harvest day!</p>
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