Beauty for Ashes

Many crowd the Saviour's kingdom,
Few receive His Cross,
Many seek His prize and honour,
Few would suffer His loss,
For the dear sake of the Master,
Counting all but dross.

Many sit at Jesus' table,
Few would fast like Him,
Few watch with Him in the garden,
When the sorrow cup of anguish,
Trembles to the brim.

Many will confess His wisdom,
Few embrace His shame,
Many, should He smile upon them,
Will His praise proclaim.
Then, if for a while He leaves them,
They desert His name.

But the souls who love Him truly,
Let woe come or bliss.
These will count His blood,
Saviour, Thou who thus hast loved me,
Make me love like this!