The one thing needful be our choice,

To sit at our Redeemer's feet;

And meekly hearken to His voice,

That still small voice divinely sweet.

Divinely sweet, and yet of power

To quell the tempest, calm the waves,

And even in His expiring hour

To rend the rocks, unclose the graves.

"Come unto me, all ye that mourn,

Weary, hard laden, sore opprest;

Your griefs and sorrows I have borne,

O come, and I will give you rest!"

For us heaven's glory He forsook;

To seek and save the lost he came;

Himself our feeble nature took,

Endured the cross, despised the shame,

And shall we not for Him forsake

Earth's toys, sin's bondage, Satan's snare,

His cross, an easy yoke, to take,

His shame, a burthen light, to bear?

Ah! then be ours that better part,

Which Mary chose, His words to hear,

And bide as treasures in our heart,

Dearer than life itself is dear.