Service Is Joy

SAMUEL JOHNSTONE MACDONALD

One came complaining that the Lord
Had not vouchsafed him his reward
For faithful service, lo, these years,
But given for guerdon only tears.
Wherefore, he murmured, should this be,
While others countless blessings see?
Had he not labored well and long,
And earned the right to joyful song?

One blest by serving heard him through,
Then smiling said, This one thing do:
Turn frowns to smiles, make no complaint;
There cannot be a weeping saint.
The heart which knows no other aim
Than service, seeks nor praise nor blame;
Service is joy and joy alone:
True toilers find no time to moan.

Repining is rebellion's tongue,
Self-will by self's own serpent stung,
And venting forth its vain lament
When seeing self's self-seeking spent.
Self-stung and self-envenomed, naught
Can save it from its fate self-wrought;
But we from self can turn and flee,
And learn Love's healing minstrelsy.

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