" That's one of
Fee's favourites, and he sobbed right out when I sang,--
"'Who best can drink his cup of woe,
Triumphant over pain;
Who patient bears his cross below,--
He follows in His train.'"
But I kept on,--really, I felt as if I couldn't stop,--and when I got to
the last line of "For all the saints who from their labours rest," Fee
whispered, "Sing those verses again, Jack."
I knew which he meant; so I sang:--
"'Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress, and their Might;
Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, the one true Light.
Alleluia!
"O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win, with them, the victor's crown of gold.
Alleluia!
* * * * *
"And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph-song,
And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia!'"
Fee lay quiet when I finished.
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