When earthly coffers stand with iron gates
And mortal wealth slips through the beggar’s hand,
When fields lie fallow, sealed by cruel fates,
And hope itself seems buried in the sand —
Let not the soul in shadowed silence pine,
Nor envy those who heap their fleeting store.
For those who walk this weary path of thine,
May Jesus Christ become thy righteousness pure.

His scarlet robe shall cover all thy shame,
His wounded hands shall balance every loss;
What earth denies, His mercy shall reclaim,
And crown thy poverty upon the cross.
Then let each righteous deed thy treasure be —
A cup of water, bread for those who weep,
A gentle word that sets the captive free,
A hidden prayer while others rage or sleep.

These are the coins no thief can ever steal,
The gold no rust nor moth shall e’er defile.
Though unseen now, the heavenly ledgers seal
Each quiet act with heaven’s gracious smile.
So labor not for dust that time devours,
But sow in love, and reap eternal flowers.

When evening falls and earthly lights grow dim,
And all thy labor seems but scattered seed,
Lift up thine eyes beyond the horizon’s rim
Where Christ prepares a banquet for His need.
There, every tear that fell on barren ground,
Each hidden kindness offered in the night,
Shall bloom as crowns of glory, jewel-crowned,
In mansions built of everlasting light.

Therefore, take heart, thou child of little means —
Thy Father knows the measure of thy days.
Let Jesus be thy wealth, thy joy, thy dreams;
Let righteousness become thy highest praise.
For when this fleeting life at last is past,
Thy treasure waits — eternal, safe, and vast.