Come now, come think with me about our ways,
About all that we gain
When panels–only for our house–we raise
While His in ruins has lain.
So can we really say, “Not now, not yet;
The mortar of my own house isn’t set”?
We plowed our fields and sowed seed far and wide,
But little have we reaped;
No feast of food, no drink has satisfied–
Instead, left incomplete.
Our money’s stored in bags that all have holes;
For all our labor, we have naught to show.
The faithful God delights so to be pleased
And in us glorified
When we His voice and prophets’ words do heed
And trust Him to provide.
The empty pleasures of this world forsake
And with His joy our souls’ deep thirst will slake.