Yes, there are joys that cannot die,
With God laid up in store;
Treasure, beyond the changing sky,
Brighter than golden ore.

The seeds which piety and love
Have scattered here below,
In the fair, fertile fields above,
To ample harvests grow.

The mite, my willing hands can give,
At Jesus’ feet I lay;
Grace shall the humble gift receive,
And grace at large repay.

The Christian’s duty, exhibited in a series of hymns,