257    L.M.     A. Steele
“Blessed are the poor in spirit.” Matt. 5. 3; James 2. 5

1 Ye humble souls, complain no more;
  Let faith survey your future store.
  How happy, how divinely blest,
  The sacred words of truth attest.

2 In vain the sons of wealth and pride
  Despise your lot, your hope deride;
  In vain they boast their little stores;
  Trifles are theirs, a kingdom yours.

3 [A kingdom of immense delight,
  Where health, and peace, and joy unite;
  Where undeclining pleasures rise,
  And every wish has full supplies.]

4 [A kingdom which can ne’er decay,
  While time sweeps earthly thrones away;
  The state which power and truth sustain,
  Unmoved for ever must remain.]

5 There shall your eyes with rapture view
  The glorious Friend that died for you,
  That died to ransom, died to raise
  To crowns of joy and songs of praise.

6 Jesus! to thee I breathe my prayer;
  Reveal, confirm my interest there;
  Whate’er my humble lot below,
  This, this my soul desires to know.