If we can not plant our cot­tage
’Mid an Ed­en’s bloom­ing bow­ers,
Whiling life’s de­light­ful sum­mer
Gaily ’mid un­fading flow­ers,
We with ho­ly love can la­bor,
Tilling Zion’s fer­tile land,
We can con­se­crate to duty
Willing hearts and rea­dy hands,

If we can not win a ti­tle
To en­wreathe our hum­ble name;
If we boast not birth or beau­ty,
Wealth nor wis­dom, might nor fame,
We can still be kind­ly heart­ed,
Acting well our low­ly part;
And, tho’ men may be un­grate­ful,
God will prize the hum­ble heart.

If we can­not read the fu­ture,
Whether weal or woe be­tide,
If with­in the veil of dark­ness
Mercy from our vi­sion hide—
We can un­der­stand our mis­sion,
What is here to do or bear;
We can love and help each oth­er,
And the cross with Je­sus share.

Let us, then, be ever do­ing,
Day de­clin­eth, night is near;
Short the time of toil and suf­fer­ing,
Jesus num­bers ev­ery tear.
See! the pear­ly gates are op­en­ing,
Lo! the splen­dor from above;
List to loved ones yon­der sing­ing,
Welcome to the land of love.