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1 Weekly Notes by Quirkquequip.…

Original Poetry.

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Original Poetry. JOY IN THE MASTER'S SERVICE. THERE'S joy in the Master's service, 'Tis sweet to do His will Then patiently let us labour Till death our voices still. And when the journey is ended, The prize we've sought for, won, How gladsome will be His welcome: Well done, my child, come home There's joy in the Master's service, E'en though the billows roar, The lightnings flash, the thunders ciash, The waves lash wild the shore, There's joy in the Master's service When all is calm and bright, When earth is clad in fairest garb, And darkness yields to light. There's joy in the Master's service, The old man cried, as he, With hoary locks and bended mien, Passed to eternity. There's joy in the Master's service, Quoth he in life's glad prime, E'er the waning sun of summer Yielded to winter time. There's joy in the Master's service Enter it while you may Come ye, the sweet buds of promise, Why do ye still delay ? The lamp of life is now burning, The Saviour's saying Come Oh list to His voice most tender, Nor from Him longer roam. Penarth. 5 J. F. P.