A little talk with Jesus, how it smooths the rugged road,
How it seems to help me onward, when I faint beneath my load:
When my heart is crushed with sorrow, and my eyes with tears are dim,
There is naught can yield me comfort like a little talk with Him.
I tell Him I am weary, and I fain would be at rest,
And I’m daily, hourly longing for a home upon His breast;
And He answers me so sweetly, in tones of tenderest love,
I am coming soon to take thee to my happy home above.
I cannot live without Him, nor would I if I could;
He is my daily portion, my medicine and my food:
He is altogether lovely, none can with Him compare—
The chief among ten thousand, the fairest of the fair.
So I’ll wait a little longer, till His appointed time,
And glory in the knowledge that such a hope is mine;
Then in my Father’s dwelling, where many mansions be,
I’ll sweetly talk with Jesus, and He will talk with me.