WATCHWORD 6. 5. 6. 5. D. With refrain

Henry Smart, 1872

4

4

1

"FORWARD!" be our watchword,

Steps and voices joined;

Seek the things before us,
Not a look behind;

Burns the fiery pillar

At our army's head;

Who shall dream of shrinking,
By Jehovah led?

Forward through the desert,
Through the toil and fight!
Jordan flows before us,
Zion beams with light.

2 Forward, flock of Jesus,
Salt of all the earth,
Till each yearning purpose
Spring to glorious birth!
Sick, they ask for healing,
Blind, they grope for day;
Pour upon the nations
Wisdom's loving ray.
Forward, out of error,
Leave behind the night;
Forward through the darkness,
Forward into light!

3 Glories upon glories
Hath our God prepared,
By the souls that love Him
One day to be shared;
Eye hath not beheld them,
Ear hath never heard;
Nor of these hath uttered
Thought or speech a word.
Forward, marching eastward
Where the heaven is bright,
Till the veil be lifted,
Till our faith be sight!

4 Far o'er yon horizon
Rise the city towers,
Where our God abideth;
That fair home is ours:
Flash the streets with jasper,
Shine the gates with gold;
Flows the gladdening river,
Shedding joys untold.
Thither, onward thither,
In Jehovah's might;
Pilgrims to your country,
Forward into light!

Henry Alford, 1871

3 Higher yet and higher

Out of clouds and night;
Nearer yet and nearer

Rising to the light,

Light serene and holy,

Where my soul may rest,
Purified and lowly,

Satisfied and blest:

4 Quicker yet and quicker
Ever onward press,
Firmer yet and firmer
Step as I progress:
Oft these earnest longings
Swell within my breast,
Yet their inner meaning
Scarce can be expressed.

Anon. in "Iphigenia in Tauris, with Original Poems," 1851

1 JESUS, I my cross have taken,

All to leave, and follow Thee;

Destitute, despised, forsaken,
Thou, from hence, my all shalt be:
Perish every fond ambition,

All I've sought, or hoped, or known; Yet how rich is my condition,

God and heaven are still my own.

2 Man may trouble and distress me,

"Twill but drive me to Thy breast; Life with trials hard may press me, Heaven will bring me sweeter rest: O'tis not in grief to harm me

While Thy love is left to me;
O'twere not in joy to charm me,

Were that joy unmixed with Thee.

3 Take, my soul, thy full salvation, Rise o'er sin and fear and care; Joy to find in every station

Something still to do or bear! Think what Spirit dwells within thee, What a Father's smile is thine, What a Saviour died to win thee! Child of heaven, shouldst thou repine? 4 Haste, then, on from grace to glory, Armed by faith, and winged by prayer! Heaven's eternal day's before thee,

God's own hand shall guide thee there. Soon shall close thy earthly mission;

Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days; Hope soon change to glad fruition, Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.

Henry F. Lyte, 1824, 1833