THOU say'st: Take up thy cross,
O man, and follow Me,
The night is black, the feet are slack;
Yet we would follow Thee.
But, O dear Lord, we cry,
That we Thy face could see :
Thy blessed face one moment's space
Then might we follow Thee.
Dim tracts of time divide
Those golden days from me;
Thy voice comes strange o'er years of change;
How can we follow Thee?