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 Savior died to win thee: child of heaven, shouldst thou repine? 4 Hasten 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.