Thou say’st, Take up thy cross,
O man, and fol­low Me;
The night is black, the feet are slack,
Yet we would fol­low Thee.

But O dear Lord, we cry,
That we Thy face could see!
Thy bless­èd face one mo­ment’s space—
Then might we fol­low Thee!

Dim tracts of time di­vide
Those gold­en days from me;
Thy voice comes strange o’er years of change;
How can I follow Thee?

Comes faint and far Thy voice
From vales of Ga­li­lee;
Thy vi­sion fades in an­cient shades;
How should we fol­low Thee?

O hea­vy cross—of faith
In what we can­not see!
As once of yore Thy­self re­store
And help to fol­low Thee.

If not as once Thou cam’st
In true hu­ma­ni­ty,
Come yet as Guest with­in the breast
That burns to fol­low Thee.

Within our hearts of hearts
In near­est near­ness be:
Set up Thy throne with­in Thine own;
Go, Lord: We fol­low Thee.