Via Nazareth! the pathway
Narrows still as on we go,
Years of toil none understanding,
Yet God teaches us to know
That the servant is not greater
Than the Lord, who through long years
Hid Himself from this world’s glory,
Follow Him! Count not the tears.

Via Galilee, we see Him!
Stones are hurled, and curses hissed
By the men who gather round Him,
Has He not the pathway missed?
No! unharmed the Savior passes,
And this rough bit of the way
We must travel, since like Jesus,
Nothing can our purpose stay.

Via too, the awful anguish
Of the hours beneath the trees,
Where the hosts of Satan linger,
Awful hours of anguish these!
Yet we fail not, for God’s angels
Minister to us, and say,
“Look, beloved, at the glory,
Conflict is but for a day!”

Then the Cross! for via Calvary
Every royal soul must go;
Here we draw the veil, for Jesus
Only can the pathway show;
“If we suffer with Him,” listen,
Just a little, little while,
And the memory will have faded
In the glory of His smile!

Then the grave, with dear ones weeping,
Knowing that all life has fled;
(Fellow-pilgrims, art thou numbered
With the men the world calls dead?)
Thence we rise, and live with Jesus,
Throned above the world’s mad strife,
Gladly forfeiting forever,
All that worldlings count as life.

On we press! and yonder gleaming,
Nearing every day, we see
The great walls of that fair city,
God has built for such as we;
And we catch the tender music
Of the choirs that sing of One
Who once died to have us with Him
In His kingdom, on the throne.

Just a few more miles, beloved!
And our feet shall ache no more;
No more sin, and no more sorrow,
Hush thee, Jesus went before;
And I hear Him sweetly whispering,
“Faint not, fear not, still press on,
For it may be ere tomorrow,
The long journey will be done.”

By Margaret E. Barber

On an unresponsive soil,

Travail, tears in secret shed,

Over hopes that lay as dead.

All in vain, thy faint heart cries.

Not in vain, thy Lord replies;

Nothing is too good to be;

Then believe, believe to see.

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2. Did thy labor turn to dust?

Suffering—did it eat like rust,

Till the blade that once was keen,

As a blunted tool is seen?

Dust and rust thy life’s reward?

Slay the thought: believe thy Lord,

When thy soul is in distress

Think upon His faithfulness.

_______________________

3. Though there be not fig nor vine,

In thy stall there be no kine,

Flock be cut off from the fold,

Not a single lamb be told,

And thy olive berry fall

Yielding no sweet oil at all,

Pulse-seed wither in the pod,

Still do thou rejoice in God.

_______________________

4. But consider, was it vain,

All the travail on the plain?

For the bud is on the bough;

It is green where thou didst plough.

Listen, tramp of little feet,

Call of little lambs that bleat;

Hearken to it. Verily,

Nothing is too good to be.”

Amy Carmichael

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