“Rejoice, My Soul, Rejoice,” Ensign, July 1977, 64
Rejoice, My Soul, Rejoice
(An excerpt, from The Sheaf of a Gleaner, Salt Lake City: Jos. Hyrum Parry and Co., 1886.)
Rejoice, my soul, rejoice,
Though thou wast once cast down,
Hear ye a still small voice,
The cross shall win the crown;
May thou find in these words sweet rest,
He chasteneth whom He loveth best.
Rejoice, my soul, rejoice,
Though bitter be the cup,
Lift not a murmuring voice
His hand doth hold it up;
Put not aside, though deep it burn,
The dregs shall yet to sweetness turn.
Rejoice, my soul, rejoice,
For thou shalt soon be free
From all that now annoys,
That pain racked fetters thee;
Oh! broken body, weary soul,
Thou shalt hereafter be made whole.
Rejoice, my soul, rejoice,
The promises are sure,
That Christ has made to those
Who shall all things endure;
Into His hands thy all then give,
For thus to die is but to live.