SATISFACTION

Miss Grace Henry

Where is true satisfaction found?

And where doth happiness abound?

Where in this wide world’s vast supplies

Can ought be found that satisfies?

The pleasures of the world appear

Attractive to the eye and ear,

But soon, ah, soon they pass away,

Earth’s joys but for a season stay.

No lasting worth do they possess

And disappointed we confess

In earthly pleasure vain the quest

For satisfaction and for rest.

And what of honours great—a name

Inscribed upon the lists of fame

Applause, renown?—say, surely here

True satisfaction doth appear.

Alas! too soon they fade away

Earth’s glories perish in a day,

And there is left an aching void

Within the heart—unsatisfied.

But do not wealth and earthly gain

Bring satisfaction in their train?

Should nought besides true joy impart

Sure this will satisfy the heart?

Nay, wealth is but a fleeting thing,

Uncertain riches cannot bring

The longed-for object of their quest

To hearts that seek for lasting rest.

Oh, where is satisfaction found?

We travel all the world around,

We search in vain—it is not here—

The question is unanswered— Where?

We look beyond this scene of death,

Beholding by the eye of faith

A Man in heaven upon the throne,

‘Tis Jesus Christ the risen One.

‘Tis He, alone the heart can fill,

Who can its earnest longings still;

‘Tis He alone who can bestow

What we have sought in vain below.

In Christ alone true wealth is found;

The riches of His grace abound,

To all who will that grace receive,

The blessed gospel news believe.

Yea, honours, too, He will bestow

On all who serve Him here below,

For He hath said, Who serveth Me

Shall of my Father honoured be!

Thus lasting riches—honours true—

Are found in Christ, and pleasures too

We find laid up in plenteous store

At God’s right hand for evermore.

Yea, though to earthly fame unknown,

No riches here to call our own,

In Christ we find a full supply,

In Him enough to satisfy.

His riches never can decay,

His glories never pass away,

Our heavenly portion is secure

And shall through endless years endure.

And through eternity we’ll raise

To Christ our glorious song of praise,

Unworthy we—our all we trace

To this—the riches of His grace.

Tingwall, Shetland

(The author, due to poor health, was largely confined to her home. The Lord took her, in 1915 at the age of 25. Another of her poems appeared in the January 1981 issue).