Oft weary of its wintry hours,
There is one thought than all more sweet
From care my longing heart to free;
'Tis this--oh, wondrous to repeat--
That Jesus intercedes for me.

And always when the path is steep,
I cling unto this wayside rope:
Nothing can give so great relief,
Nothing can give a brighter hope.
'Tis like a stately spreading palm,
Which forms my spirit's canopy,
'Neath which I breathe the soothing balm
That Jesus intercedes for me.

And when I reach the sea of death,
To sail its silent waters o'er,
This thought shall calm my latest breath
And waft me to the golden shore.
Not only that my Savior died,
The atoning lamb on Calvary,
But--was there ever love so wide?--
Still lives and intercedes for me.




EVE'S FLOWERS