Feast of Thomas the Apostle Long did I toil and knew no earthly rest, Far did I rove and found no certain home; At last I sought them in His sheltering breast, Who opes His arms and bids the weary come: With Him I found a home, a rest divine, And I, since then, am His, and He is mine. The good I have is from His stores supplied, The ill is only what He deems the best; He for my friend, I'm rich with naught beside, And poor without Him, though of all possessed; Changes may come, I take or I resign Content, while I am His, and He is mine. Whate'er may change, in Him no change is seen, A glorious Sun that wanes not nor declines; Above the storms and clouds He walks serene, And on His people's inward darkness shines; All may depart: I fret not, nor repine, While I my Saviours am, while He is mine. While here, alas! I know but half His love, But half discern Him, and but half adore; But when I meet Him in the realms above I hope to love him better, praise Him more, And feel, and tell, amid the choir divine, How fully I am His, and He is mine.