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Many crowd the Savior's kingdom,
Few receive His cross;
Many seek His consolation,
Few will suffer loss.
For the dear sake of the Master,
Counting all but dross,
For the dear sake of the Master,
Counting all but dross . . .
But the souls who love Him truly,
Let woe come or bliss,
These will count their dearest hearts' blood
Not their own, but His.
Savior, Thou who thus hast loved me,
Give me love like this,
Savior, Thou who thus hast loved me,
Give me love like this.
- Amy Carmichael