For conquered fields I do not ask,
From toil and tears I would not flee;
Nor do I seek the easy task,
The hilly land my choice would be.
The foe is there, and lo, his sword
Is drawn, the land he will not yield;
But God is faithful and His Word
Shall be my fortress and my shield.
Give me the field of labor,
Let me work till set of sun,
That when the Master cometh,
He may say,
I do not ask that He will give
The milk and honey of the land;
I do not ask that I may live
In gilded home or palace grand.
The threatening storm I do not fear,
The thorny path I would not shun,
But only plead that He might hear
My prayer for strength the race to run.
If disappointment be my lot,
And scornful foes distress my life,
I trust in Him, He fails me not,
But grants me peace in midst of strife.
Thus shall my days glide swiftly on,
Till in this world I cease to roam,
Till sights and sounds of time are gone,
And I have reached my endless home.