LIFE ON THE ALTAR

An introduction to Annie by one who knew her:

If you ever had the privilege of calling upon Annie Johnson Flint, you have not forgotten her hands. Anyone who ever saw them, and who had read any of her poems in manuscript, must have marvelled at the clear and beautiful writing which her painfully distorted hands were able to produce.

Those instruments of expression which most of us can use so freely, were carefully trained to do their manual work with fine restraint and regularity, and perfect legibility. But this ability to use her physical disabilities far more blessedly than so many of us use our abilities, was seen typically. but not chiefly in such control.

It was revealed far more deeply than that in the outpouring of a courageous, chastened, and God-given spirit of glad-hearted service in the name of the Lord whom she loved, and by whose grace her gifts were brought to such abundant fruition.
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Annie Johnson Flint’s poems were not simply the unskilled utterances of a devout spirit. They disclose by their gracious art, the hand of the true poet who knows that religious verse-writing at its best requires not only a consecrated insight, but lest the message be halted and perhaps lost, a due regard for the most exacting canons in the use of rich and fitting words, musical rhythm, and correct verse forms.

Hard work very often lies back of seemingly spontaneous utterances in which these principles of verse writing are followed. Miss Flint was one of the few writers of religious poems in whose work one recognizes in the very ease of it, the hand of the careful artist. There was no distortion in that inward instrument of consecrated expression.

One day a visitor stepped from Miss Flint’s sitting room· into the sleeping room to secure a certain reprint of a poem for Miss Flint, who was seated in her wheeled chair. A glance at the bed in that room was revealing. Nine soft pillows were carefully arranged on the bed for use in protecting the exquisitely sensitive, painsmitten body from the normal contact of the bed-clothing, so distressing it was for her to recline in the hope of rest at night. And it was this most sensitive sufferer who, out of her keen experiences of pain, prepared so many poem-pillows for the weary, the suffering, the discouraged in body, mind and spirit. The message of her life is found in just such episodes, and just such lovely, heartening, deeply spiritual poems. Here is an exhibit of what God can do with a life so hound and yet so gloriously free, in a ministry rarely granted to any dweller in our needy world.

PHILIP E. HOWARD

There’s around 90 poems here by Annie Johnson Flint, so please enjoy scrolling through these gems!

According to the Power

If our scanty measure were used,
How poor were the gifts of the Lord;
If our cups of thought and our pitchers of prayer
Were all that His love could afford.

But – above all our stammering tongues
Can voice of our deepest desire,
Abundant above all the pitiful good
To which our small minds can aspire;

Exceeding abundant above
The reach of our groveling thought;
So great is the fullness of knowledge and grace
His power to usward hath wrought.

All These Things

In a factory building there are wheels and gearings,
There are cranks and pulleys, beltings tight or slack,
Some are whirling swiftly, some are turning slowly,
Some are thrusting forward, some are pulling back;
Some are smooth and silent, some are rough and noisy,
Pounding, rattling, clanking, moving with a jerk;
In a wild confusion, in a seeming chaos,
Lifting pushing driving, but they do their work.

From the mightiest lever to the tiniest pinion,
All things move together for the purpose planned;
And behind the working is a mind controlling,
And a force directing, and a guiding hand.

So all things are working for the Lord’s beloved;
Some things might be hurtful if alone they stood;
Some might seem to hinder; some might draw us backward;
But they work together, and they work for good;
All the thwarted longings, all the stern denials,
All the contradictions, hard to understand.
And the force that holds them, speeds them and retards them,
Stops and starts and guides them, is our Father’s hand.

Apple Blossoms

God might have clothed the apple trees
In scentless brown or gray —
Such frail and fleeting blossoming,
So soon to pass away —

Instead of this fair springtime garb
Of fragrant pink and pearl,
That flutters down like rosy snow
On every breeze a-whirl.

His goodness gives the pleasant fruit
On laden boughs down-bent;
His lovingkindness adds the bloom,
Its beauty and its scent.

He loads us with His benefits
Until no want we know,
And then He sends the little more
That makes our cup o’erflow.

He opens wide His hand of love;
He gives no stingy dole;
His tender mercies crown our days:
O bless the Lord, my soul!

A Thanksgiving

For all Thy blessings given there are many to thank Thee, Lord,
But for the gifts withholden I fain would add my word.
For good things I desired that barred me from the best,
The peace at the price of honour, the sloth of a shameful rest;
The poisonous sweets I longed for to my hungering heart denied,
The staff that broke and failed me when I walked in the way of pride;
The tinsel joys withheld that so content might still be mine,
The help refused that might have made me loose my hand from Thine;
The light withdrawn that I might not see the dangers of my way;
For what Thou hast not given, I thank Thee, Lord today.

Better Than My Best

I prayed for strength, and then I lost awhile
All sense of nearness, human and divine;
The love I leaned on failed and pierced my heart,
The hands I clung to loosed themselves from mine;
But while I swayed, weak trembling, and alone,
The everlasting arms upheld my own.

I prayed for light; the sun went down in clouds,
The moon was darkened by a misty doubt,
The stars of heaven were dimmed by earthly fears,
And all my little candle flames burned out;
But while I sat in shadow, wrapped in night,
The face of Christ made all the darkness bright.

I prayed for peace, and dreamed of restful ease,
A slumber free from pain, a hushed repose;
Above my head the skies were black with storm,
And fiercer grew the onslaught of my foes;
But while the battle raged, and wild winds blew,
I heard His voice and perfect peace I knew.

I thank you, Lord, You were too wise to heed
My feeble prayers, and answer as I sought,
Since these rich gifts Your bounty has bestowed
Have brought me more than all I asked or thought;
Giver of good, so answer each request
With your own giving, better than my best.

Be Not Anxious

I cannot change the yesterday when I distrusted Thee,
Though all my fears unfounded proved, and shame me now as then;
I cannot promise that my faith will last throughout the night,
Or that, when Thy tomorrow comes, I will not doubt again.

But grant, O faithful Lord and true, that I may trust Thee now,
Just now, each moment of each hour of this Thy present day;
That, looking backward, I may read the record of the past,
And, forward, see Thy steadfast word light all the future way.

With Memory to guard the rear and Faith to lead the van,
And all Thy tested promises like beacon lights to shine,
How can I dread that demon shape of anxious, faithless fear?
For he shall lose his power when I fully trust in Thine.

BUT GOD

I know not, but God knows; Oh, blessed rest from fear!
All my unfolding days to Him are plain and clear.

Each anxious, puzzled “Why?” From doubt or dread that grows,
Finds answer in this thought; I know not, but He knows.

I cannot, but God can; Oh, balm for all my care!
The burden that I drop his hand will lift and bear,

Though eagle pinions tire — I walk where once I ran —
This is my strength, to know I cannot, but God can.

I see not, but God sees; Oh, all-sufficient light!
My dark and hidden way to Him is always bright.

My strained and peering eyes may close in restful ease,
And I in peace may sleep; I see not, but He sees.

By the Brook Cherith

When flowed the brook of Cherith, God sent Elijah there,
And fed him by its waters, though all the land was bare.

While flowed the brook of Cherith, Elijah rested there,
No drought could touch his fountains, nor blight his soul with care.

When failed the brook of Cherith, beside its channel bare,
What thought Jehovah’s prophet? Did faith become despair?

But God had long provided new sources of supply,
The morsel that should waste not, the cruse that should not dry.

When fails some brook of Cherith that long for us availed,
Do we recall His promise and think that too has failed?

Nay, He has other rivers whose waters will not dry;
His love is ever meeting new need with new supply.

When dries our brook of Cherith and leaves its channel bare,
The cruse, long since made ready, is waiting. He knows where.

Come Unto Me

Come unto Me, all ye that labor,
That sink beneath your load of care;
Come unto Me when shadows gather,
And raise your hearts to Me in prayer.
I wait to give your souls a blessing,
To lift you upward to My breast;
Come, weary, worn, and heavy-laden,
And I will give you rest.

Come unto Me, all ye that hunger,
When all your fairest hopes have died;
When all the joys that Earth can give you
Have left you still unsatisfied;
Her stony bread and broken cisterns
Your thirsting souls forever mock;
Come unto Me, and I will give you
The water from the Rock.

Come unto Me, ye brokenhearted
Who walk alone life’s thorny ways;
For you I felt Myself forsaken,
And now am with you all the days.
My love alone is everlasting;
The heart I made, shall I not fill?
Come, lonely, sad, your want confessing;
And all your longing still.

Counted Worthy

This weighty burden thou dost bear, this heavy cross,
It is a gift the Lord bestows, and not a loss;
It is a trust that He commits unto thy care,
A precious lesson He has deigned with thee to share.

Rejoice that He so honors thee and so esteems
Of highest worth; the crown of thorns with Him to wear,
And all the suffering of that crown with Him to bear,
That by and by His glory, too, with Him thou’lt share.

Count It Done

A father wrote to his son, who was faraway from home;
“I have sent you a beautiful gift, it may be delayed, but ‘twill come;

It is what you have wanted most, and have asked for many days;”
And before the child received the gift he voiced his thanks and praise.

Our Father saith unto us: “Your need shall be supplied;
Ask and receive that your joy be filled, and My joy in you abide.”

Shall we wait to thank till we see the answer to every prayer?
Forbear to praise till we feel the lifted pressure of care?

Nay, let us trust His word and know that the thing is done,
For His promise is just as sure as a father’s to his son.

Faithful Is He who Has Promised

Are you passing through a testing.
Is your pillow wet with tears?
Do you wonder what the reason,
Why it seems God never hears?
Why it is you have no answer
To your oft, repeated plea,
Why the heaven still is leaden
As you wait on bended knee?

Do you wonder as you suffer,
Whether God does understand,
And if so, why He ignores you,
Fails to hold you in His Hand?
Do black doubts creep in, assail you,
Fears without–and fears within,
Till your brave heart almost falters
And gives way to deadly sin?

All God’s testings have a purpose,
Someday you will see the light.
All He asks is that you trust Him,
Walk by faith and not by sight.
Do not fear when doubts beset you,
Just remember – He is near;
He will never, never leave you,
He will always, always hear.

Faithful is He who has promised,
He will never let you fall,
Daily will the strength be given
Strength for each and strength for all.
He will gladly share pain with you,
He will gladly give you peace.
Till your tired and weary body
Finds its blessed, glad release.

When the darkened veil is lifted,
Then, dear heart, you’ll understand
Why it is you had to suffer,
Why you could not feel His hand
Giving strength when it was needed,
Giving power and peace within
Giving joy thru tears and trial,
Giving victory over sin.
So till then just keep on trusting,
Thru the sunshine and the rain.

Follow Thou Me

Follow – not go ahead at thine own pleasure,
Nor turn aside at thine own wayward will,
Nor stray afar in search of other treasure,
But close at hand, where I can aid thee still;
Across the sea and through the desert places,
Onward and upward by the one sure way,
Till thou shalt sit with me in heavenly places
Amid the splendors of eternal day.

And – follow thou; for thee my call is sounded;
All that I suffered – was it not for thee?
For thee my soul was bruised, my body wounded,
I died, from sin and death to set thee free;
No other hand could write thine own life-story,
No other make thy choice of gain or loss,
No other win and wear thy crown of glory,
No other lift and bear thy destined cross.

Follow thou me – though stranger voices hail thee,
I am the way and there is none beside;
There is no other staff that shall not fail thee,
There is no other eye than mine to guide;
There is no other shepherd who can fold thee
By such still waters, in such pastures fair;
There is no other arm can safely hold thee
In doubt and danger, darkness and despair.

Trust me to lead thee home to God and heaven;
What others do or say is naught to thee;
No other light, no other truth, is given;
Follow – follow thou – follow me.

For All the Morrows

Has the year brought sadness?
Joy is yet in store.
Has it given gladness?
Next year giveth more.
Let your Father measure
All your pain and care,
Let Him weigh the burden
That your heart must bear,
Sending light or shadow
As He deemeth best,
For in His sure wisdom
You can safely rest.
Peace for all the morrows,
Strength for all the days,
These shall be your portion
Through the New Year’s ways.

God’s Great Grace

God’s grace is great enough to meet the great things,
The crashing waves that overwhelm the soul,
The roaring winds that leave us stunned and breathless,
The sudden storms beyond our life’s control.

His grace is great enough to meet the small things,
The little pin-prick troubles that annoy,
The insect worries, buzzing and persistent,
The squeaking wheels that grate upon our joy.

God’s Thoughts and Mine

The Hammer thoughts that pound and shatter peace;
The Rodent thoughts that gnaw and will not cease;
The Brier thoughts that pull and prick and scratch;
The Rover thoughts that I can never catch;
The Serpent thoughts that leave their lairs at night;
The Shadow thoughts that dim the new day’s light;

These are my thoughts; oh, take them, Lord, I pray,
Out of my heart, and cast them far away;
And in their stead give me those thoughts of Thine,
So crystal-clear, so holy, high and fine,
That I shall grow by their pure grace enticed,
Worthy to think the lovely thoughts of Christ.

God’s Orchestra

The great Composer writes the theme
And gives us each a part to play;
To some a sweet and flowing air,
Smooth and unbroken all the way;

They pour their full heart’s gladness out
In notes of joy and service blent;
But some He gives long bars of “rests,”
With idle voice and instrument.

He who directs the singing spheres,
The music of the morning stars,
Needs, for His full creation’s hymn,
The quiet of the soundless bars.

Be silent unto God, my soul,
If this the score He writes for thee,
And “hold the rest,” play no false note
To mar His perfect harmony.

Yet be thou watchful for thy turn,
Strike on the instant, true and clear,
Lest from the grand, melodious whole
Thy note be missing to His ear.

God’s Shut-ins

Ferns are the “shut-ins” of God’s flower kingdom,
Hidden in the mossy dells and cool retreats;
Their lace-like fronds uncurl in fresh, green beauty
Far from the busy world and dusty streets.

They bear no gorgeous flowers of gold or crimson,
No dainty blooms of blue or pearly white;
Their graceful leaves exhale no strong, sweet odor,
Their very seeds are hidden from our sight.

And yet, sometimes, to eyes that tire of brightness,
To senses sated with the rich perfume,
How grateful is the cool green of the fern-leaves
Set in the silence of some shaded room.

Can we not learn from them some blessed lesson,
We, who, like them, are growing in the shade?
Their lovely freshness is a constant beauty,
Dewy and sweet when summer blossoms fade.

When others come, who, dwelling in the sunshine,
Have grown a-weary of the toil and strife,
Can we not share with them our calm and quiet –
Show them the beauty of a hidden life?

May we not give to them some tender message,
Some of the garnered peace we hold in store,
Some of the songs God giveth in the midnight,
When sleep flies from us and the pain is sore?

They walk with hurrying steps Life’s busy highway,
Often the still, small voice they cannot hear;
But we can listen in the restful stillness
Its words of faith and hope and gladsome cheer.

We dwell in safety in our Lord’s green pastures,
Our souls at rest the quiet waters by;
Willing to be since we may not be doing,
Living epistles, open to the eye.

Our frail lives hidden in His strength eternal,
Guarded and shielded from the tempest’s shock,
The wild winds pass us by – they cannot harm us
Where we are sheltered by our Fortress Rock.

Sometimes, perhaps, the ferns may long to blossom,
Even as we to see our work’s reward;
Impatient of the stillness and the shadow,
Envy the roses on the sunny sward.

“Foolish!” we say, “the dust and heat would kill them,
That sweet, cool shadow is their very life,”
Yes – and, God knows, perhaps our spirit’s beauty,
Might, like them, wither in the great world’s strife.

So He doth keep us, set apart in shadow,
Far from the lovely garden’s sunny sod;
And why He does it we shall know hereafter,
“Be still,” He says, “and know that I am God!”

Can we not trust our loving heavenly Father
To do the very best that can be done,
Though one be planted in the glowing sunlight,
Set in the silence and the shadow – one?

Be we content to say our word in secret,
Content to wear our garb of sober green,
And, while the world is praising other workers,
Our tiny seeds cast out, though all unseen.

We may not show our love and zeal by labor,
Our hands are folded, though they tire of rest;
Fettered the feet that fain would run His errands,
Willing and swift. But yet, He knoweth best

Just the conditions which will suit our growing,
Just the environment we best may stand;
For the green ferns the cool depths of the forest,
And for our shade the “shadow of His hand.”

God’s Will Be Done

“His Will Be Done,” We say with sighs and trembling,
Expecting trial, bitter loss and tears.
And then how doth He answer us? With blessings,
And sweet rebuking of our faithless fears.

God’s Will is peace and plenty and the power to be,
And have the best that He can give:
A mind to serve Him, a heart to love,
And faith to die and the strength to live.

It means for us all good, all grace, all glory;
His Kingdom coming and on Earth begun.
Why should we fear to say, “His Will, His righteous,
His tender, loving, joyous Will be done!”?

Go Ye

Hear your commission, O Church of the Master!
Friends and disciples of Jesus, take heed.
How are you doing the work of the Father?
How are you caring for hunger and need?

Useless to stay in your doorway, and beckon —
Those who most need will never come in;
Fighting the devil with art and with culture,
How he must laugh at his stronghold of sin!

Go–to the sheep that are scattered and fainting,
Having no shepherd, and tell them to come;
Go–to the highways, and tell every creature
Still the feast waiteth, and yet there is room.

Go–the time shortens, the night is approaching–
Harvests are whit’ning and reapers are few;
Somewhere, perhaps, in the darkness are dying
Souls that might enter the Kingdom with you.

Go–for the foe goeth, tireless, cunning,
Body and soul he is holding in fee.
Go–lift his gauge in the might of the Stronger,
And in that Power declare the slaves free!

Go–our Lord goeth to man’s petty judgment,
Bearing His cross in the midst of His foes;
Let us go forth to Him, mocked and derided,
Bear His reproaches, and share in His woes.

Go–church of Christ, for He goeth before you,
And all the way that ye take He doeth know.
On the bright morrow He’ll say, “Come ye blessed,”
But till the dawning the Message is, “GO!”

GRACE SUFFICIENT

So many burdened lives along the way!
My load seems lighter than the most I see,
And oft I wonder if I could be brave,
Patient and sweet if they were laid on me.

But God has never said that He would give
Another’s grace without another’s thorn;
What matter, since for every day of mine
Sufficient grace for me comes with the morn?

And though the future brings some heavier cross
I need not cloud the present with my fears;
I know the grace that is enough today
Will be sufficient still through all the years.

He Giveth More Grace

He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater,
He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;
To added affliction He addeth His mercy;
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,
Our Father’s full giving is only begun.

Fear not that thy need shall exceed His provision,
Our God ever yearns His resources to share;
Lean hard on the arm everlasting, availing;
The Father both thee and thy load will upbear.

His love has no limit; His grace has no measure.
His pow’r has no boundary known unto men;
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus,
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again!

He’s Helping Me Now

He’s helping me now–this moment,
Though I may not see it or hear,
Perhaps by a friend far distant,
Perhaps by a stranger near,
Perhaps by a spoken message
Perhaps by the printed word;
In ways that I know and know not
I have the help of the Lord.

He’s keeping me now–this moment,
However I need it most,
Perhaps by a single angel,
Perhaps by a mighty host,
Perhaps by the chain that frets me,
Or the walls that shut me in;
In ways that I know or know not
He keeps me from harm and sin.

He’s guiding me now–this moment,
In pathways easy or hard,
Perhaps by a door wide open,
Perhaps by a door fast barred,
Perhaps by a joy withholden
Perhaps by a gladness given;
In ways that I know and know not,
He’s leading me up to heaven.

He’s using me now–this moment,
And whether I go or stand,
Perhaps by a plan accomplished
Perhaps when he stays my hand,
Perhaps by a word in season
Perhaps by a silent prayer;
In ways that I know and know not,
His labor of love I share.

He That Believeth

He that believeth shall not make haste
In useless hurry his strength to waste;
Who walks with God can afford to wait,
For he can never arrive too late.

He that believeth shall not delay;
Who carries the word of the King on its’ way
Keeps pace with Jehovah’s marching tune,
And he can never come too soon.

He that believeth shall walk serene,
With ordered steppings and leisured mien,
He dwells in the midst of eternities,
And the timeless ages of God are his.

His Billows

They are God’s billows, whether they go over us
Hiding His face in smothering spray and foam,
Or, smooth and sparkling, spread a path before us,
And to our haven bear us safely home.

They are God’s billows, whether, for our succour,
He walks across them, stilling all our fear,
Or to our cry there comes nor aid nor answer,
And in the lonely silence none is near.

They are God’s billows, whether we are toiling
Through tempest-driven waves that never cease,
While deep to deep with clamor loud is calling,
Or at His word they hush themselves in peace.

They are God’s billows, whether He divides them,
Making us walk dry shod where seas had flowed,
Or lets tumultuous breakers surge about us
Rushing unchecked across our only road.

They are God’s billows, and He brings us through them;
So has He promised, so His love will do;
Keeping and leading, guiding and upholding,
To His sure harbor, He will bring us through.

His Lamps

God’s lamps we are, to shine where He shall say:
And lamps are not for sunny rooms, nor for the light of day;
But for the dark places of the earth, where shame and wrong and crime have birth,
Or for the murky twilight grey, where wandering sheep have gone astray,
Or where the Lamp of Faith grows dim, and souls are groping after Him.

And as sometimes a flame we find Clear-shining through the night,
So dark we do not see the lamp but only see the Light,
So may we shine, God’s love the flame,
That men may glorify His Name.

“I AM WITH YOU”

It is not always comfort to remember
That “God is in His Heaven”,
When heavy clouds have hidden all the sunshine
And we are tempest-driven;
When all the world is desolate and lonely,
Or filled with hate and strife;
When hearts grow weary with their cares and troubles,
And grief and sin are rife

It does not help that God is in His Heaven,
For that seems far away;
No voice comes down to us from that high silence,
No answer when we pray;
Up there, we think, the ceaseless hallelujahs
That rise around the throne
Must dull the echoes of earth’s lamentations,
And drown the sad heart’s moan.

But here is comfort – “I am with you alway
The Faithful and the True
And I will never leave thee nor forsake thee,
The long, hard journey through”,
For Jesus Christ is present help and refuge,
Not far, but very near;
Our Light, our Guide, our Shepherd, our Counselor,
A Saviour Who is here.

I Have Set the Lord

I set Thy love between the world and me,
O Lord, its cruelty, its wrong, its scorn;
They cannot reach me through Thy tenderness
That once for me their worst has known and borne.

I set Thy cross between my sins and me,
That so their shadow darken not my days,
Nor rob my nights of rest. Thy blood blots out
The long indictment from my shrinking gaze.

I set Thy prayers between my doubts and me,
That so my faith shall fail not, but abide,
Though tried and tested sore; that shield shall serve
All fiery darts to quench or turn aside.

I set Thy strength between my foes and me,
And walk, so guarded, panoplied and girt,
Through dangers seen and unseen, unafraid;
Through flames unscorched and raging waves unhurt.

I set Thy thoughts between my thoughts and me,
The calm, pure visions of Thy holy mind,
Till nothing that disturbs me or defiles,
Into my heart or soul can entrance find.

I set Thy self between my self and me,
And losing mine, Thy life abundant gain;
Take Thy sufficiency for my deep need,
And to Thy perfect stature so attain.

“I Know”

“I Know” –against this fortress wall
The gates of hell shall not prevail;
I know in Whom I have believed
And that His word shall never fail;
I know that He is strong to keep,
And all that I commit to Him
Is safe, though I may wake or sleep.

“I Know” –this Spirit-sword of truth
Can pierce the cunning foe’s device;
I know to ransom me from death
My Saviour paid the utmost price;
I know my sins are all forgiven
Since on the cross my sin He bore,
And if His sufferings I share
I’ll share His glory evermore.

“I Know” –against this shield of faith
The darts of Hate are powerless;
I know not anything that is:
Not tribulation nor distress,
Not all the heights nor all the depths
Of demon power, strong and great,
Not present things, nor things to come,
Christ’s love from me can separate.

“I Know” –this one triumphant phrase
Can silence doubts and banish fears;
I know that all thins work for good
And I have proved it through the years;
I know my Shepherd’s guiding hand,
His faithfulness, His tender care,
That all my need He doth supply
And all my burdens He doth bear.

“I Know” –upon this lighthouse tower
The winds and waves shall beat in vain;
I know that my Redeemer lives
And in His death all Death was slain;
I know my life is hid with Him
Beyond the reach of change or harm,
And life and death to me are one
Within the shelter of His arm.

“I Know” –my firm foundation this,
The Rock amid the shifting sand,
I know that Jesus is the Christ,
And builded there my house shall stand;
I know, though all my hand hath wrought
By fire and flood be swept away,
This cornerstone of faith shall rest
Unshaken in the last great day.

“I Know” –this anchor-hope will hold
Till storms and clouds forever cease;
I know that He will come again
To bring the Thousand Years of Peace;
I know that when He shall appear
And earth and time for me are past,
When in His likeness I awake
I shall be satisfied at last.

In a Small Place

Fret not because thy place is small,
Thy service need not be,
For thou canst make it all there is
Of joy and ministry.

The dewdrop, as the boundless sea,
In God’s great place has part;
And this is all He asks of thee;
Be faithful where thou art.

In thee His mighty hand can show
The wonders of His grace,
And He can make the humblest room
A high and holy place.

Thy life can know the blessedness
Of resting in His will;
His fullness flows unceasingly
Thy cup of need to fill

His strength upon they weakness waits,
His power for thy task.
What more, O child of all His care,
Could any great one ask?

In Jesus

In the world, tribulation; but in Jesus — peace;
The heart of the whirlwind where its roarings cease,
A little home waiting, still and light and warm,
A safe sanctuary from the night and storm.

In the world, tribulation; but in Jesus — rest;
A sure place of refuge for the sore-opprest,
A guarded pavilion no device can take,
A strong-walled fortress no assault can shake.

In the world tribulation; but in Jesus — joy;
A full cup of gladness that can never cloy,
A sweet fountain rising out of Marrah’s tide,
A spring of rejoicing that is never dried.

In the world, tribulation; but in Jesus — peace;
A deep, quiet harbor where the high waves cease,
A long-desired haven on a friendly shore,
Where the wild winds of oceans sweep the soul no more.

In the world, tribulation, trials all around,
For on earth no resting and no joys are found;
Let us flee to Jesus where all sorrows cease;
Here alone is gladness, here alone is peace.

In Time of Need

Not by my need alone I ask this token
That Thou, O Lord, dost hear and heed my cry;
But by Thy promise that cannot be broken,
That all my need in Christ Thou wilt supply;
Not by my love for Thee, so oft disproved,
Not by my gifts to Thee, so poor and small,
But by Thy love that gave Thy best-beloved,
And with that one great Gift included all.

Not by my faith I plead, for that can falter,
Aye, and has faltered in the days gone by;
But by Thy faithfulness that cannot alter,
And by Thine ordered covenants on high,
Set safe and sure above Time’s brief duration,
Beyond all change, eternally the same;
By these I dare my fervent supplication,
By Thy great mercies and Thy holy name.

I See Jesus

I don’t look back: God knows the fruitless efforts,
The wasted hours the sinning, the regrets;
I leave them all with Him Who blots the record,
And mercifully forgives, and then forgets.

I don’t look forward, God sees all the future,
The road that, short or long, will lead me home,
And He will face with me its every trial,
And bear for me the burdens that may come.

I don’t look round me: then would fears assail me,
So wild the tumult of earth’s restless seas;
So dark the world, so filled with woe and evil,
So vain the hope of comfort or of ease.

I don’t look in; for then am I most wretched;
Myself has naught on which to stay my trust;
Nothing I see save failures and short-comings,
And weak endeavors crumbling into dust.

But I look up — into the face of Jesus,
For there my heart can rest, my fears are stilled.
And there is joy, and love, and light for darkness,
And perfect peace, and every hope fulfilled.

I Shall Dwell Forever

“I shall dwell forever”; amid this world of change,
Where our homesick spirits oft’ feel sad and strange,
Where the vacant places shall never more be filled,
Where the ache of memory can never quite be stilled,
Where the silent voices echo through life’s empty room,
Where the brightest skies of earth must know grief’s cloud of gloom;
Is any promise sweeter in our Father’s blessed Word?
“I shall dwell forever in the house of the Lord.”

We shall dwell forever; we shall never more go out,
Never more be weary with wandering about;
Never more be seeking for a place in which to rest,
Never more be dreading “the stirring of the nest.”

How our hearts are turning, turning ever as we roam
Toward the shining portals of our everlasting home!
Is any promise sweeter in our Father’s steadfast word?
“I shall dwell forever in the house of the Lord.”

We shall dwell forever where warfare never comes,
Shrilling of the trumpets or boding roll of drums;
In a quiet resting place and in a land of peace,
Where all pain and sorrows forevermore shall cease,
In that abiding city of the rainbow-jeweled wall,
Set on sure foundations that shall never shake or fall.

Oh, the joy of looking past the things that pass away
To a habitation where our tired feet may stay!
Is any promise sweeter in all our Father’s Word?
“I shall dwell forever in the house of the Lord.”

It Is Jesus

There is a Voice through Earth’s wild clamor calling,
To all the heavy laden and oppressed,
Sweet as the cooling dew at even falling;
“Come unto Me and rest.”

It is the voice of Jesus still entreating,
To all the comfortless and all the sad;
Day after day His tender call repeating,
“Come unto Me and I will make you glad.”

There is a Hand outstretched in tenderest pity,
Where all the weary and the wandering roam,
Waiting to lead them to the heavenly city,
To bring the homeless Home.

It is the hand of Jesus, still upholding,
Strong to deliver, mighty still to keep;
And none shall pluck from out that safe enfolding,
The weakest one of all His blood-bought sheep.

There is a Form that walks life’s stormy ocean,
Bidding the noise of wind and tempest cease;
Crying along through all the wild commotion,
“In Me ye shall have peace.”

Oh, it is Jesus coming o’er the waters,
As once He walked the waves of Galilee,
Speaking to all earth’s shipwrecked sons and daughters,
“Be not afraid; have faith, have faith in Me.”

There is a Love that longs with deep affection
To gather all the sin-sick sons of men,
Beneath its wings of shelter and protection,
And give them health again.

It is the love of Jesus, sweet with longing,
His full salvation to the world to give;
Crying to all the dead, earth’s highways thronging,
“Come unto Me, come unto Me and live.”

Jesus, My Lord

Jesus, my Lord, is a wall about me,
Dwelling within, I can dwell secure;
Nothing can harm me, for naught can touch me
Save what He willeth that I endure.

Jesus, my Lord, is my shield and buckler,
Unto all evil the way is barred;
Nothing can harm me, for nought can reach me
Save what He willeth shall cross His guard.

Jesus, my Lord, is my lofty tower
Where He hath set me in peace on high;
Nothing can harm me, for naught can find me
Save what He willeth shall pass Him by.

Martha and Mary

Martha was busy and hurried,
Serving the friend divine,
Cleansing the cups and platters,
Bringing the bread and wine;
But Martha was careful and anxious
Fretted in thought and in word.
She had no time to be sitting
While she was serving the Lord,

For Martha was “cumbered with serving,
Martha was “troubled” with “things”—
Those that would pass with the using
She was forgetting her wings.
Mary was quiet and peaceful,
Learning to love and to live.
Mary was hearing His precepts,
Mary was letting Him give—

Give of the riches eternal,
Treasures of mind and of heart;
Learning the mind of the Master,
Choosing the better part.
Do we ever labor at serving
Till voices grow fretful and shrill,
Forgetting how to be loving,
Forgetting how to be still?

Do we strive for “things” in possession,
And toil for the perishing meat,
Neglecting the one thing needful—
Sitting at Jesus’ feet?
Service is good when he asks it,
Labor is right in it’s place,
But there is one thing better,
Looking up in his face;

There is so much he can tell us,
Truths that are precious and deep;
This is the place where he wants us,
These are the things we can keep.

May Joy Be Thine

The Springtime joy be thine:—
Joy of the wind across vast spaces sweeping
And like a giant on the forest leaping;
Joy of the trees from slumber rudely shaken,
From dreams of living unto life to waken;
Joy of the little bird that flies and sings
For very rapture of it song and wings;
Joy of the stream, whose penthouse roof of snow
Muffles no more its glad, impetuous flow;
Joy of the silver showers that gleam and pass
And leave a trail of green o’er tree and grass;
Joy of the mounting sap, the bursting seed,
The joy of life from death’s dominion freed;—
This joy be thine

The Resurrection joy be thine:—
The joy of those who, weeping
Because their dead, in straitened chambers sleeping,
Have left them for a while,
Yet know, that loosed from all earth’s tribulations
They have passed on to heavenly habitations,
To Life eternal and the Father’s smile;
The joy of those who hear
Beyond all doubt and fear,
Through jarring echoes of discordant strife,
That one Voice sounding clear:—
“I am the resurrection and the life;
They who believe on me
From death’s dark thrall I free;
I drank that bitter cup, I passed that gloomy door,
Through that lone valley I have gone before,
Because I live, they live for evermore.”
This joy be thine.

Much Fruit

It is the branch that bears the fruit that feels the knife;
To prune it for a larger growth, a fuller life;
Though every budding twig be lopped, and every grace
Of swaying tendril, springing leaf, be lost a space.
O thou, whose life of joy seems reft of beauty – shorn,
Whose aspirations lie in dust, all bruised and torn;
Rejoice! Though each desire, each dream, each hope of thine,
Shall fall and fade; it is the hand of Love Divine,
That holds the knife, that cuts and breaks with tenderest touch,
That thou, whose life has borne some fruit may’st now bear much!

“New Every Morning”

Yea, “new every morning,” though we may awake,
Our hearts with old sorrow beginning to ache;
With old work unfinished when night stayed our hand,
With new duties waiting, unknown and unplanned;
With old care still pressing, to fret and to vex,
With new problems rising, ours minds to perplex;
In ways long familiar, in paths yet untrod,
Oh, new every morning the mercies of God!

His faithfulness fails not; it meets each new day
With guidance for every new step of the way;
New grace for new trials, new trust for old fears,
New patience for bearing the wrongs of the years,
New strength for new burdens, new courage for old,
New faith for whatever the day may unfold;
As fresh for each need as the dew on the sod;
Oh, new every morning the mercies of God!

Not Down, But Through

“When Thou passest through the waters,”
Deep the waves may be and cold,
But Jehovah is our refuge,
And his promise is our hold;
For the Lord himself has said it,
He, the faithful God and true;
“When you come to the waters
You will not go down, but through.”

Seas of sorrow, Seas of trial,
Bitter anguish, fiercest pain,
Rolling surges of temptation
Sweeping over heart and brain…
They will never overflow us
For we know His work is true;
All His waves and all His billows
He will lead us safely through.

Threatening breakers of destruction,
Doubt’s insidious undertow,
Will not sink us, will not drag us
Out to ocean depths of woe;
For His promise will sustain us,
Praise the Lord, whose word is true!
We will not go down, or under,
For He says, “You will pass through.”

Nevertheless Afterward

I was so happy in my lot,
I was so glad of work or play,
I only asked that I might walk
With others on life’s common way;
My Father let the sorrows come
That blotted out the sunlit skies,
That stopped the toil of busy hands
And turned my laughter into sighs.

I was so sorrowful, so spent,
I only asked to dwell apart,
And in the silence and the dark
To nurse my bruised and broken heart;
My Father came and took my hand
And led me forth in paths unknown,
He filled my days with crowding cares,
He would not let me weep alone.

But, looking backward now, I know
How wise and kind He was to me,
The clouds all gone, the shadows fled,
His glorious afterward I see;
If He had left me to myself
I know the joys I should have lost,
The good that I had lacked or missed,
How much I gained, how small the cost.

And shall I doubt His love today
Because once more the mists arise,
Because His hand, though leading still,
Is hidden from my blinded eyes?
Nay, help me to remember, Lord,
As ‘neath the chastening rod I bow,
Thy wondrous dealing past, and trust
Thine afterward for this dark now.

One Day at a Time

One day at a time, with its failures and fears,
With its hurts and mistakes, with its weakness and tears,
With its portion of pain and its burden of care;
One day at a time we must meet and must bear.

One day at a time to be patient and strong,
To be calm under trial and sweet under wrong;
Then its toiling shall pass and its sorrow shall cease;
It shall darken and die, and the night shall bring peace.

One day at a time – but the day is so long,
And the heart is not brave, and the soul is not strong,
O Thou pitiful Christ, be Thou near all the way;
Give courage and patience and strength for the day.

Swift cometh His answer, so clear and so sweet;
“Yea, I will be with thee, thy troubles to meet;
I will not forget thee, nor fail thee, nor grieve;
I will not forsake thee; I never will leave.”

Not yesterday’s load we are called on to bear,
Nor the morrow’s uncertain and shadowy care;
Why should we look forward or back with dismay?
Our needs, as our mercies, are but for the day.

One day at a time, and the day is His day;
He hath numbered its hours, though they haste or delay.
His grace is sufficient; we walk not alone;
As the day, so the strength that He giveth His own.

Pressed

Pressed out of measure and pressed to all length.
Pressed so intensely it seems beyond strength;
Pressed in the body and pressed in the soul,
Pressed in the mind till the dark surges roll;
Pressed by foes, and pressured by friends;
Pressure on pressure, till life nearly ends;
Pressed into loving the staff and the rod,
Pressed into knowing no helper but God;
Pressed into liberty where nothing clings,
Pressed into faith for impossible things;
Pressed into living a life for the Lord,
Pressed into living a Christ-life outpoured.

The Prisoner of the Lord

The great Apostle called himself
“The prisoner of the Lord;”
He was not held by Roman chains
Nor kept in Caesar’s ward;
Constrained by love alone,
By cords of kindness bound,
The bondslave of the living Christ,
True liberty he found.

Oh, happy those who see
In poverty and pain,
In weakness and in toil,
Their Father’s golden chain;
Who feel no prison walls
Though shut in narrow ways,
And though in darkness fettered fast
Can still rejoice and praise;
From sin’s dread bondage bought,
They own their Master’s ward,
They bear the brand of Christ,
Blest prisoners of the Lord!

Rest, Tired Heart

Rest, tired heart, within those arms eternal,
Like cradled child upon its father’s breast;
Oh, lean on Him who giveth to the weary,
After the day is over, blessed rest.

Rest, troubled heart, oppressed by care and sorrow,
Let every fear and vague foreboding cease;
Oh, rest in Him who giveth to the burdened,
After the day is over, blessed peace.

Rest, anxious heart, take no thought for the morrow,
Thou needest not wake, for God His watch doth keep:
Oh, rest in Him who giveth His beloved,
After the day is over, blessed sleep.

Show Us Thy Grace

Show us our need, O Lord; how lost, how hopeless,
How poor, how sunk in sin our carnal hearts;
Show us how vain to change our sad condition,
Our best endeavor and our utmost arts;
Show us how weak we are, and how dependent,
How multiplied defeats our pride abase;
And then — O Lord, lest we despair too wholly —

Show us Thy grace!

Show us Thy grace, the great, the all-sufficient,
Infinite riches for our poverty,
Mercy of God for uttermost salvation,
Weapon that turns defeat to victory;
Gladness unspeakable and full of glory,
Beyond our needs, a vast unmeasured space.
Lord, as we never yet have seen or known it,

Show us Thy grace!

Shut In

Shut in – shut in from the ceaseless din
Of the restless world, and its wants and sin;
Shut in from its turmoil, care and strife
And all the wearisome round of life.

Shut in, with tears that are spent in vain,
With the dull companionship of pain;
Shut in with the changeless days and hours,
And the bitter knowledge of failing powers.

Shut in with a trio of virtues sweet —
Patience and Grace all pain to meet,
With Faith that can suffer and stand and wait,
And lean on the promises strong and great!

Shut in with Christ! Oh, wonderful thought!
Shut in with the peace His sufferings brought;
Shut in with the love that wields the rod —
Oh, company blest! Shut in with God!

Some Better Thing

The little purling streams of things
go singing to the sea,
The passing joys of earth and time
that once laid hold on me;
But I have seem a vaster tide than
they have ever known,
And I have heard a mightier song that
drowns the streamlets’ tone;
For I have seen the face of Christ
and I have heard His voice,
And in the swelling flood of joy
my spirit’s deeps rejoice.
The little pleasant, passing things,
that meant so much to me,
Are lost in ocean fullness as the
streams within the sea.

Songs in the Night

We make our songs in the day of our gladness,
When life is all laughter and joy and delight,
When never a shadow has clouded our sunshine;
But God giveth songs in the night!

He giveth songs in the night of our sorrow,
When tears are our drink and when grief is our meat,
Till we silence our weeping and still our repining
To list to those cadences sweet.

God giveth songs in the night of affliction,
When earth has no sun and the heavens no star;
Like a comforting touch in the desolate darkness
His voice stealeth in from afar.

He giveth songs — and His music is sweeter
Than earth’s greatest voices and gladdest refrains;
Our loveliest melodies shade to the minor,
But His keep their full major strains.

He giveth songs when our music is over,
When our voices falter and our tongues are mute;
When trembling hands drop from the lute and the harp-strings,
And hushed are the viol and flute.

Give us Thy songs, O Thou Maker of music!
Teach us to sing, O Thou Bringer of joy!
Till nothing can silence the notes of our triumph
And naught our rejoicing destroy!

The Bridge Of The Cross

Man fain would build a bridge to God
Across the fathomless abyss
That lies between his earth-bound soul
And heaven’s perfect bliss.

He takes his knowledge, small and vague,
The great inventions he has wrought,
His mightiest efforts, finest plans,
And his profoundest thought:

He binds them with his strands of straw,
His strings of tow, his ropes of sand,
With all the power and the skill
Of cunning brain and hand.

Through swirling mists he strains his eye,
Above the unseen torrent’s roar
He pushes forth the makeshift thing
And hopes to touch the shore.

But when he seeks to cross the chasm
With eager heart and step elate,
He finds his bridge too short to reach,
Too frail to bear his weight.

Oh, baseless dream! Oh, useless toil!
Oh, utter and eternal loss!
For God has laid, to span the void,
His Son upon the cross.

And when man’s broken bridges fall,
And sink into the gulf at last,
Still wide and long and safe and strong,
The bridge of God stands fast.

The Blessings That Remain

There are loved ones who are missing
From the fireside and the feast;
There are faces that have vanished,
There are voices that have ceased;
But we know they passed forever
From our mortal grief and pain,
And we thank Thee, O our Father,
For the blessings that remain.

The Burden of Israel

Behold, thou art a burden, O house of Israel,
A curse among the nations wherever thou dost dwell,
They hate thee and they fear thee as all the world can tell.

Thou art a fire, O Jacob, among the forest leaves;
A flame of fear devouring, a torch among the sheaves;
A trouble to the countries, for which the whole earth grieves.

A thorn art thou, O Judah, a terror to the lands,
Sharp stone and rock of stumbling that cuts the meddler’s hands,
A snare to the oppressor who binds thee with his bands.

Thou art a cup of trembling, Jerusalem, today;
The mighty men are gathered, the battle in array,
The Gentile hosts assembled, that God may have His way.

A joy unto the nations, O Judah, thou shalt be,
When out of all the countries the Lord hath gathered thee,
And thou shalt be a blessing from sea to farthest sea.

The Christ of Calvary

Christ does not save men by His life,
Though that was holy, sinless, pure;
Nor even by His tender love,
Though that forever shall endure.

He does not save them by His throne,
Though it shall never pass away;
Nor by His vast creative power
That holds the elements in sway.

He does not save them by His works,
Though He was ever doing good;—
The awful need was greater still,
It took His death, His cross, His blood.

The City of God

There is a wondrous city, beautiful, bright and fair;
The throne of God is in it and the glory of God is there.
And oh, the joy of knowing, as the Lord’s redeemed can know,
While through the tribulations of the earthly life they go,
There shall be no more toiling; there shall be no more care;
There shall be no more burdens, grievous and hard to bear;
There shall be no more crying, hunger, thirst, or fears;
There shall be no more heartache, through the eternal years!

And in the wondrous city there shall be no more night;
Forever and forever the Lamb shall be its light;
And oh, the joy of knowing, as the Lord’s redeemed can know,
While through the dark and dangers of the earthly life they go,
There shall be no more trouble; there shall be no more wrong;
There shall be no more sighing, stilling the glory-song;
There shall be no more sorrow, for God shall dry all tears;
There shall be no more sinning, through the eternal years!

Blessed are they who love Him and they who keep His Word;
They shall enter into the city to dwell in the house of the Lord;
And oh, the joy of knowing, as the Lord’s redeemed can know,
While often sad and lonely, through this earthly life they go,
There shall be no more sickness; there shall be no more pain;
There shall be no more parting, loved from the loved again;
There shall be no more weeping, kneeling beside earth’s biers;
There shall be no more dying, through the eternal years!

The Court of the King

With the staff that had failed in my need
Where the road had been stony and steep;
With the lamp that was smoking and dim,
Though the darkness was growing more deep;
Weary, too weary to pray
And too heavy-hearted to sing,
Faint with the toils of the way
I came to the court of the King.

There where the fountains fall cool,
Their waters unfailing and pure;
There where the ministering palms
Stand like His promises sure,
Oh! there was peace in its shade,
Oh! there was rest in its calm;
And its sweet silences lay
On my bruised spirit like balm.

Long did I kneel in His court,
And walk in His garden so fair;
All I had lost or had lacked
I found in His treasuries there;
Oil to replenish my lamp,
His kindness a crown for my head,
For the staff that had wounded my hand
The rod of His mercy instead.

A garment of praises I found
For the sullen, dark garb I had worn,
And sandals of peace for the feet
That the rocks and the briers had torn;
Joy for my mourning He gave,
Making my spirit to sing,
And, girded with gladness and strength,
I passed from the court of the King.

The Creator

God takes the scent of the softening ground
Where the first green blade pricks through,
He takes the reddening maple bough
A slant against the blue,

He takes the cheer of the robin’s song
And the flash of the blue-bird’s wing
The joy of prisoners set free,
And of these He makes the Spring.

God takes the sheen of the waving wheat
Where the slow cloud-shadows pass,
He takes the brook’s soft rippling tune
And the daisied meadow’s grass,

He takes the swish of the mower’s scythe
In the noon tide’s hot, white glare,
The joy of labor and growing things,
And makes the Summer fair.

God takes the sound of the dropping nuts,
And the scent of the wine-sweet air
In the twilight time of the year’s long day,
When the spent Earth kneels in prayer

He takes a thousand varied hues
Aglow in an opal haze,
The joy of the harvest gathered in,
And makes the Autumn days.

God takes the peace of the snowy fields,
Asleep ‘neath the clear, cold moon,
He takes the grace of the leafless trees
That sway to the wind’s wild tune,

The frost-made lace on the window pane,
The whirl of the starry flakes,
The joy of rest when the toil is done,
And the quiet Winter makes.

God takes the years – the old, the new,
With their changing scenes and brief
The close-shut bud and the fruiting bough,
Flower and fading leaf,

Grace and glory and lack and loss,
The song, the sigh, the strife
The joy of hope and the hope fulfilled,
And makes of the years a life

God takes our lives and the sum of them,
His will and the will of man
Evil and good and dream and deed,
His purpose and our plan

The thwarted lives and the crippled lives
And the things that give them worth
The joy of life and the pain of life,
And He makes the Heavens and Earth.

The Double Clasp

The Saviour’s hand – how close its hold,
That none can loosen, none can break.
No powers of heaven or earth or hell
That loving clasp can ever shake.

And over Jesus’ wounded hand
The Father’s hand of strength is laid,
Omnipotent to save and keep;
Thus is our surety surer made.

So, one beneath and one above,
Father and Son their hands unite.
How safe, how safe the ransomed are
Within that clasp of tender might!

The Double Reason

Fear not, though the dangers around thee
Come close and look large and grow great;
I will make thee a way through the waters
Till their force and their fury abate;
I will walk through the furnace beside thee
And the flame shall not burn, but refine.
I have called thee and I have redeemed thee!
Fear not, thou art mine.

Fear not; there is naught that can harm thee,
Though evils increase more and more,
Though the prey there is none to deliver,
The spoil there is none to restore.
The power shall pass from the mighty,
The strength of the foe shall decline;
When I work, there is none that can hinder,
Fear not, I am thine.

Fear not; I have called thee and named thee,
Thou art precious and dear unto Me;
I have chosen thee, loved thee and saved thee
My praise and My glory to be.
I have given My life for thy ransom,
My blood is the seal and the sign;
Thy Saviour, Thy God, Thy Redeemer–
Fear not; thou art Mine; I am thine.

The Empty Tomb

A Mohommedan once said to a missionary:
“We have our Prophet’s tomb to show,
but you have nothing.”

Earth’s Meccas and the faiths of men
Hold but a corpse within a tomb;
Each weary pilgrim’s journey ends
At some sad shrine of grief and gloom.

Earth’s prophets rest, in silence wrapped,
Dust in the dust from whence they came;
By Death’s chill wind their torches quenched,
No more to kindle into flame.

Earth’s priests in solemn splendor sleep,
Ashes to ashes, robed and stoled;
Their chanted prayers forever hushed,
Their altar fires forever cold.

Earth’s kings in state and glory lie,
In crypts of porphyry encased;
Their names and deeds, in marble carved,
Time’s blurring touch has half erased.

No mausoleum built by man
Entombs our Prophet, Priest and King;
Our love no pilgrimage need make,
No fading votive garlands bring.

No death could kill, no guard could keep,
No seal could stay, no grave could hold
Immortal Life in mortal clay;
No darkness could the Light enfold.

Our Prophet’s word shall come to pass,
Our Priest is interceding still;
Our King shall reign forevermore,
While heaven and earth shall do his will.

“No grave to show”? This is the stone
On which the temples of our faith
Rise higher than the mosques of Ind;
Our Living Lord has conquered Death!

The Gardener

While we are tending our earthly gardens,
The Gardener lends us His seeds to sow,
The bulbs of His lilies, the roots of His roses,
To plant and cherish and watch them grow.

Sometimes He comes when the day is over
And garners a sheaf of the full-grown wheat,
Ripe for the harvest and waiting the sickle,
Ready to fall at the Reaper’s feet.

And sometimes He comes in the early morning
And tenderly gathers the sweetest flowers,
The buds of the lily, the rose half-openend:
Shall we not joy when He chooses ours?

Shall we not yield God our loveliest blossoms,
Glad that He finds them so fragrant and fair,
Worthy transplanting to heavenly gardens,
To gain new beauty beneath His care?

Never a storm shall sweep over His flowers,
Nor drought shall wither, nor frost shall blight;
About His feet they shall grow unfading,
And bloom forever in His pure sight.

The Grace of God

“My grace,” ’tis the God of all grace who hath spoken,
Whose word in the heavens forever is set;
Whose covenant promise hath never been broken;
Who never can fail or forget;
Who knoweth my needs and who seeth my sorrows,
However so many and great they may be;
Who heareth my prayers for the days and the morrows;
His grace is sufficient for me.

“My grace;” all His blessings this work is unfolding,
His love and His power in harmony blend;
‘Tis grace that hath saved me, and grace that is holding,
And grace that will keep to the end;
‘Tis grace that hath written redemption’s glad story,
And grace all the song of the ransomed shall be;
‘Tis grace that transforms me from glory to glory;
That grace is sufficient for me.

“My grace is,” not “was,” and not “will be;” ’tis flowing
Each hour and each moment my need to supply,
The deeper I dip, still the deeper ’tis growing,
No drought can diminish or dry;
My heart from the future no trouble shall borrow;
Eternal this present provision shall be,
Assured for today and as sure for tomorrow,
Such grace is sufficient for me.

“My grace is sufficient.” Oh, help without measure!
An ocean of riches no plummet can sound,
A storehouse unfailing of infinite treasure,
A gift without limit or bound;
Exceeding abundant for all His creation,
Enough for the thorn that is buffeting me,
The fullness of God for earth’s brief tribulation –
“My grace is sufficient for thee.”

“Sufficient for thee,” for my utmost salvation,
As though ne’er another had owed Him a debt;
For my special grief and my special temptation,
My cares and my sins that beset;
He giveth more grace for my humble endeavour;
I am praising Him now, I shall praise Him forever;
His grace is sufficient for me.

The Gray Days of November

The gray days of November
No plaint from me shall win;
I shut the fog and mist all out,
And shut the fire-shine in;
I draw my chair the closer
To where its warm glow cheers,
And, dreaming in the firelight,
Dream back across the years.

No happier days, no better,
My lost youth gave to me,
With flowers in every meadow
And songs from every tree;
That was the time of growing;
This is the time of rest;
Bloom falls, but fruiting follows,
And each in turn is best.

God giveth of His glory
An ever-changing view;
The old things pass forever;
He maketh all things new;
Life knoweth here no beauty
That shall not fade away;
Some better things He sendeth,
And these are mine today.

Mine is the riper wisdom
That comes with graying hair;
Mine is the fuller knowledge
Of God’s great love and care;
Mine is the clearer vision;
Mine is the wider view;
And mine the hoarded memories
Of friendships kind and true.

Mine is the steadier patience
To bear the ills of life;
Mine is the sturdier courage
To meet the daily strife;
Mine is the faith serener
Than ever youth could know
To walk the way appointed
Through sunshine or through snow.

The gray days lead to white days
Of peace and silence deep,
A stiller hush of resting
When Earth and I shall sleep;
And then – a glorious waking
When broken ties all mend.
Through gray days of November
I wait the long year’s end.

The Jesus Way

Oh, there’s many a thorn on the Jesus-way,
Many a thorn, I know;
There is grief and loss and the pain of a cross
Wherever my feet may go.
But the Lord will heal all the wounds that I feel,
When the thorns have pricked me sore,
And He’s planted a rose where the brier grows,
For He’s walked this path before.

There is many a storm on the Jesus-way,
Many a storm I see,
When black is the cloud and the wind is loud
And the waves go over me.
But the Lord Himself is in my little ship
And the storm obeys His will;
At the word He hath said – “Be not afraid”
My heart and the sea grow still.

There is many a foe on the Jesus-way,
Many a foe to fight,
And all the day I must watch and pray
To keep my armour bright.
But the Lord is ever at my side
The tempter’s wiles to meet;
Though the foe be strong and the strife be long,
[Jesus] never knows defeat.

The Kingdom of Heaven is at Hand

Rejoice, ye weary workers, for the Kingdom is at hand!
The Son of God is watching from His throne where He doth stand;
Sleepless vigil was He keeping while ye sowed the seed with weeping,
After seed time cometh reaping and the harvest is at hand.
Ye who fight the battle with Him, ye who follow in His train,
For the joy once set before you counting all your loss as gain,
Ye who walk with Him unfaltering and tread the path He trod,
Ye who work with Him to reconcile human hearts unto our God—
In the east, the darkness scorning, lo, the Day Star brings the morning,
In the brightness of that dawning, Oh, rejoice, ye faithful band!
Ye who bear the heat and burden, ye shall soon receive the guerdon,
For the Kingdom with its joy is just at hand.

Take heart, ye heavy-laden, for the Kingdom is at hand!
The Son of Man is harkening from the throne where he doth stand;
He hath marked the children’s crying, He hath heard the widow’s sighing,
He hath seen the strong man’s dying, and the reckoning is at hand.
Long, oh, long, from reeking sweatshops, long from factory and mine,
Ye have lifted hands of pleading to a heaven that made no sign;
But the Lord’s ear hath been open, He hath heard your bitter cry;
He hath answered, and the day of your redemption draweth nigh;
He will not forget your story when He cometh in His glory,
And the evils old and hoary He will banish from the land;
He hath heard the prisoners’ moaning, He hath heard creation’s groaning,
And the Kingdom with its freedom is at hand.

Take heed, O ye oppressors, for the Kingdom is at hand!
The righteous Judge is waiting by the throne where He doth stand;
Ye have kept the hireling’s wages, ye have altered metes and gauges,
And ‘tis written in the pages of the Book within His hand.
Swift and terrible His judgment when those pages shall unfold;
He cannot be bribed with favour, He cannot be bought with gold.
Ye have pawned the debtor’s garment, and the roof above his head,
Ye have fattened on his hunger—ye have raised the price of bread.
Ye have trafficked in the souls of men, the welfare of the state,
In the honour of the humble and the weakness of the great,
In the safety of the labourer, the playtime of the child;
Ye have coined the women’s purity; corrupted and defiled.
Ye have trapped the feet of innocence and slain the joy of youth,
And your souls have known no pity and your hearts have felt no truth.
Ye are filling up the measure of your lust and pride and pleasure,
And your hoard of cankered treasure burns like fire within your hand;
Now the wealth in which ye trusted, with the children’s tears red-rusted,
With the toilers’ blood encrusted, shall dissolve like ropes of sand,
For the reign of gold is ending and God’s judgment is impending,
And the Kingdom with its glory is at hand.

The Little Doors

Oh, strait and narrow is the door,
The little door of loss,
By which we enter in to Christ,
The low door of the Cross;
But when we put away our pride,
And in contrition come,
We find it is the only way
That leads to God and Home.

Oh, strait and lowly are the doors
By which Christ comes to us;
We bar the entrance gates of joy,
And when He finds them thus,
By strange, small doors of woe and want,
Of trial and of pain,
He enters in to share our lives
To our eternal gain.

The narrow doors He brings us to,
The little doors and low,
What large rooms they will open on,
If we will only go;
The strange, small doors of work and want,
Strait doors of grief and pain,
What riches they will lead us too,
What everlasting gain!

The Lonely Olive Mill

Gethsemane – oil-press,
The name of an olive-yard at the foot of the Mount of Olives…

There’s a peaceful vale in a sunny land
Where the hills keep guard around,
And the soft breeze stirs the olive trees
And the grass that clothes the ground.

And in the hush and solitude
Where even the birds are still,
There stands untended and alone
An ancient olive mill.

Through the long bright day the mill wheel turns
And the fruit is crushed by the stone,
And quietly drips the fragrant oil
In silence and alone.

But somewhere out in the circling hills,
Unseen, unheard, unknown,
The Master of the olive mill
Is mindful of his own.

So many hours the wheel must turn,
And stone on stone must grind,
And then he will come to his olive mill,
His need of oil to find.

He knows how heavy the weight must be,
How long to let it lie,
Ere he can gather the precious oil
And throw the refuse by.

O child of God, are you being crushed
`Neath trial, pain or woe?
No eye to pity, no ear to hear,
No voice to whisper low?

Alone in your Gethsemane,
Christ watches with you there.
He will not suffer one ounce of weight
More than your strength can bear.

He chasteneth but to purify;
He crusheth but to raise;
In love he worketh his blessed will
To his glory’s endless praise.

In our affliction, afflicted still
He leaveth us not alone;
He will not forget, he will not forsake,
He is mindful of his own.

The Lord Himself

It is not for a sign we are watching…
For wonders above and below
The pouring out of vials of judgment,
The sounding of trumpets of woe;
It is not for a day we are looking
Nor even the time yet to be
When the earth shall be filled with God’s glory
As the waters cover the sea;
It is not for a king we are longing
To make the world-kingdoms His own;
It is not for a judge who shall summon
The nations of earth to his throne.

Not for these, though we know they are coming;
They are but adjuncts of Him,
Before whom all glory is clouded,
Besides whom all splendor grows dim.
We wait for the Lord, our beloved,
Our Comforter, Master and Friend,
The substance of all that we hope for,
Beginning of faith and its end;
We watch for our Savior and Bridegroom,
Who loved us and made us his own;
For Him we are looking and longing;
For Jesus and Jesus alone.

The Love of Christ

How broad is Christ’s love?
Oh, as broad as man’s trespass,
As wide as the need of the world can be;
And yet to the need of one soul it can narrow–
He came to the world and He came to me.

How long is His love?
Without end or beginning,
Eternal as God and His life it must be,
For, to everlasting as from everlasting
He loveth the world and He loveth me.

How deep is Christ’s love?
Oh, as deep as man’s sinning.
As low as the uttermost vileness can be;
In the fathomless gulf of the Father’s forsaking
He died for the world and He died for me.

How high is His love?
It is high as the heavens,
As high as the throne of His glory must be;
And yet from that height He hath stooped to redeem us–
He so loved the world and He so loved me.

How great is Christ’s love?
Oh, it passeth all knowledge,
No man’s comprehension its measure can be;
It filleth the world, yet each heart may contain it–
He so loves the world and He so loves me.

The Measures of God

His wrath the seven vials hold,
The seven trumps His judgments sound;
But what can span the love of God,
And what His goodness bound?

The seven woes shall have an end,
The seven plagues His hand shall stay:
But when shall His compassions fail,
His kindness pass away?

The dust of earth He measures out,
He numbers all the stars of space,
His mighty scales the mountains weigh;
But what can weigh His grace?

His fingers spread the heavens forth,
He cups the seas within His hand;
But who His mercies can compute;
Unnumbered as the sand?

The wickedness of men shall pass,
And death shall die, and wars shall cease;
But still His covenant shall stand
Of righteousness and peace.

And when men’s measured thread is spun,
His finished tale of days is told,
When all earth’s numbered years are done
And Time itself grows old,

Then shall God’s long eternities
Their unmarked course have yet to run,
And His uncounted eon-hours
Be only just begun.

The New Prayer

Long have I prayed this prayer to Thee –
According to my need, give me
A little strength from day to day,
A little light along the way,
A little trust when fears are nigh,
A little peace when waves run high,
And with Thy love and joy fill up
The blessing in my little cup.

So have I prayed for long, but now –
According to Thy grace, give Thou!
Of my small measure take no heed,
Above, around my puny need
Pour out the treasures of Thy good,
Let Thy great goodness, like a flood,
My meager life fill and o’erflow
Till I unto Thy gifts shall grow,
Give joy exceeding all I sought,
And love beyond mine utmost thought;
Thy riches for my poverty,
According to Thy grace, give me.

The Promises of God

God’s promises are like the birds of heaven
That fill the hours with music all day long,
Too oft unheard and oftener unheeded
Amid earth’s voices of despair and wrong;
Each one a thought of God, a joy, a comfort,
If we but pause to listen to its song.

God’s promises are like the rain of heaven
That falls in blessing from the cloudy skies,
The mown grass and the tender herb rejoicing
When all the land is parched and verdure dies,
Replenishing the streams of His refreshing
Till from the dust of earth new harvests rise.

God’s promises are like the winds of heaven
And each in turn His trumpet message brings,
Sweeping afar, with breath of sea or forest
The poison mist that o’er the lowland clings;
Reviving forces that can sooth and strengthen,
Life in the touch and healing in their wings.

God’s promises are like the stars of heaven,
As numberless, as glorious, as bright;
Though endless ages witness to their splendor
Still do they glow with undiminished light;
Unseen and unremembered in the sunshine,
And showing fairest in the darkest night.

God’s promises, forever fixed in heaven,
Though earth and heaven pass, shall still abide;
Yea and amen they are in Christ the Saviour
And all our needs in them are satisfied.

The Red Sea Place

Have you come to the Red Sea place in your life,
Where in spite of all you can do,
There is no way out, there is no way back,
There is no other way but through?
Then wait on the Lord with a trust serene
Till the night of your fear is gone;
He will send the wind, He will heap the floods,
When He says to your soul “Go on.”

And His hand will lead you through – clear through –
Ere the watery walls roll down,
No foe can reach you, no wave can touch,
No mightiest sea can drown;
The tossing billows may rear their crests,
Their foam at your feet may break,
But over their bed you shall walk dryshod
In the path that your Lord will make.

In the morning watch, ‘neath the lifted cloud,
You shall see but the Lord alone,
When He leads you on from the place of the sea,
To a land that you have not known;
And your fears shall pass as your foes have passed,
You shall no more be afraid;
You shall sing His praise in a better place,
A place that His hand has made.

These Shall Find

The steady hand can never find the deep things of the Lord;
The undimmed eyes can never see the comfort in His Word;
The joyous heart can never know the healing of His love;
The learned mind can never grasp the wisdom from above.

But, oh, the trembling hand clasps His and loses all its fear;
The weeping eyes can search His Word and read His promise clear;
The broken heart rests in His love until its faith prevails;
The childlike mind can reach the source where wisdom never fails.

The Things of God

Oh, wonderful love that takes me,
Though wretched and stained with sin!
Oh, marvelous grace that makes me
All holy and pure within!

Oh, mighty power that holds me,
A helper forever near!
Oh, perfect peace that folds me
In danger and storm and fear!

Oh, jubilant joy sustaining
My faltering steps to the last!
Oh, rapturous rest remaining
When toiling and tears are past!

Oh, matchless mercy that rates me
Joint-heirs with the sinless Son!
Oh, golden glory that waits me
When tempests and clouds are done!

All things are mine, for I am His;
Oh, infinite gifts divine!
God gave His Son, His only one;
And all that He has is mine.

The Thoughts of God

How wonderful Thy thought, O God!
Though poor and needy I may be,
How high, how deep, how manifold,
Thy never-ceasing thought of me!

Thou thinkest more than I can know;
Thy gifts transcend my fairest dreams;
Beside the greatest of Thy thoughts
How small mine utmost asking seems!

Thou thinkest peace; the winds are lulled
And lash no more the billow’s crest,
And all the tumult of my soul
Is hushed into Thy perfect rest.

Thou thinkest joy, and I rejoice;
Even in grief I must be glad,
For when my lips can sing Thy praise,
My spirit may no more be sad.

Thou thinkest strength; I rise again
Where I had fallen in the fight,
And gird Thine armor on anew,
Strong in the power of Thy might.

Thou thinkest light; the clouds depart;
The stars shine through the deeps of space,
And then the dawn, and then the day,
The sun, and glory of Thy face.

Thou thinkest love; ah! God of love,
That thought in Christ embodied lies;
I see a vision of the cross,
And every selfish impulse dies.

The Threefold Promise

Oh, wonderful promises given
To those who wait on the Lord;
Strength for the faint who have fallen,
Power for weakness outpoured.

Blessed the threefold assurance
Thrilling the soul like a song:
They shall mount up as the eagles
On wide wings and swift wings and strong;

Run with the stride of the racer,
Leaping unwearied and free,
Till he comes to the end of his journey
And the crown of his effort shall see.

But the word for the worn and the weary,
Who know not the rapture of wings,
Who know not the joy of the runner,
What infinite comfort it brings!

Walk and not faint; the slow steppings,
The plodding dull round of the days,
The toil and the heat and the burdens,
The wearying halts and delays.

Oh, promise for those who are walking,
Who falter and stumble and fall,
The courage, the strength and the patience,
This is the sweetest of all.

The Threefold Work

Three things the Master hath to do,
And we who serve Him here below
And long to see His kingdom come,
May pray or give or go.

He needs them all – the open hand,
The willing feet, the asking heart –
To work together and to weave
The threefold cord that shall not part.

Nor shall the giver count his gift
As greater than the worker’s need,
Nor he in turn his service boast
Above the prayers that voice his need.

Not all can go, nor all can give
To arm the other for the fray;
But young or old or rich or poor,
Or strong or weak – we all can pray.

Pray that the full hands open wide
To speed the message on its way,
That those who hear the call may go
And pray – that other hearts may pray.

The Shadow of the Cross

O Christ! who once has seen Thy visioned beauty –
He counts all gain but loss,
And other things are naught if he may win Thee
And share with Thee Thy Cross

And he on whom its shadow once has fallen,
Walks quietly and apart;
He holds the master-key of joy and sorrow
That opens every heart.

The burdened souls that pass him on the highway
Turn back to take his hand,
And murmur low, with tear-wet eyes of anguish,
“You know – you understand.”

And yet no other can his heart interpret,
His life is hidden, lone;
A holy seal is set upon his forehead,
And he is not his own.

O Cross of Christ! on me thy shade is resting,
Thy sacred marks I bear;
Earth holds for me no more of grief or gladness,
No anxious thought nor care;

Only henceforth, the bliss and pain commingled
Of sharing woes divine,
Of knowing I am called to eat His portion,
To drink His bitter wine.

Keep me forever, Lord, beneath that shadow,
Lest, haply, I should lose
My life for something less then Thy sweet service,
Or one dear pang refuse.

The Two Sufficients

Evil shall pass with the day that brought it,
As the sea is stayed by the barrier land;
When the Giver of good shall say, “No farther,”
And bid the foeman restrain his hand;
But the grace of the Lord outstays the evil,
Outlasts the darkness, outruns the morn,
Outwatches the stars in their nightly vigil;
And the foe that returns with the day reborn,
As he left it unwearied, shall find it unworn.

The Wall and the Hedge

The devil may wall you round
But he cannot roof you in;
He may fetter your feet and tie your hands
And strive to hamper your soul with bands
As his way has always been;
But he cannot hide the face of God,
And the Lord shall be your Light,
And your eyes and your thoughts can rise to the sky,
Where His clouds and His winds and His birds go by,
And His stars shine out at night.

The devil may wall you round;
He may rob you of all things dear,
He may bring his hardest and roughest stone
And think to cage you and keep you alone,
But he may not press too near;
For the Lord has planted a hedge inside,
And has made it strong and tall,
A hedge of living and growing green;
And ever it mounts and keeps between
The trusting soul and the devil’s wall.

The devil may wall you round,
But the Lord’s hand covers you —
And His hedge is a thick and thorny hedge,
And the devil can find no entering wedge
Nor get his fingers through;
He may circle about you all day long,
But he cannot work as he would,
For the will of the Lord restrains his hand,
And he cannot pass the Lord’s command
And his evil turns to good.

The devil may wall you round
With his gray stones, row on row;
But the green of the hedge is fresh and fair,
And within its circle is space to spare,
And room for your soul to grow;
The wall that shuts you in
May be hard and high and stout,
But the Lord is sun and the Lord is dew,
And His hedge is coolness and shade for you,
And no wall can shut Him out.

The Way of the Cross

Some of us stay at the Cross,
Some of us wait at the tomb,
Quickened and raised with Christ
Yet lingering still in the gloom.

Some of us bide at the Passover Feast
With Pentecost all unknown:
The triumphs of grace in the heavenly place
That our Lord has made our own.

If Christ who had died had stopped at the Cross,
His work had been incomplete.
If Christ who was buried had stayed in the tomb,
He had only known defeat.

But the Way of the Cross never stops at the Cross,
And the way of the tomb leads on
To victorious Grace in the heavenly place,
Where the Risen Lord has gone.

The Way to God

No tower man can build him will ever rise to God,
For his foundations crumble ere half the stairs are trod;
No wireless spark, far-flashing its message through the air,
Can bring the seeking sinner an answer to his prayer;
No bridge of his contriving can cross the awful space
Between the guilty spirit and God’s forgiving grace;
No airship of his making can be so swiftly driven,
Or plume so bold a pinion as once to soar to heaven;
No lamp of his devising can send one cheering ray
Along death’s gloomy vista or through the grave’s dark way;
No road of his constructing can ever stretch so far
That he can travel on it to reach the nearest star;
Too weak are man’s inventions, too short to reach the goal,
All vain for his salvation and useless to his soul.

Oh, changeless name of Jesus! This is the tower that stands,
Its firm foundation resting below Time’s shifting sands;
Oh, precious blood of Jesus! This is the voice that speaks
God’s word of love and pardon to ever heart that seeks;
Oh, blessed cross of Jesus! This is the bridge that’s given
To span the dreadful chasm between man’s soul and heaven;
Oh, wondrous wounds of Jesus! His nail-pierced hands alone
Can bear the sinner’s ransom up to His Father’s throne;
Oh, empty tomb of Jesus! This holds a glory bright
That fills death’s shadowed valley with resurrection light;
Oh, mighty love of Jesus! His feet alone have trod
Earth’s heights and depths of sorrow and made a way to God.

The Word of God

Though heart grows faint and spirits sink,
By every wind of feeling blown;
Though faith itself may seem to fail,
I rest upon Thy word alone.

That word of power that framed the worlds;
Unfailing, changeless, strong and sure.
Though heaven and earth should pass away,
What Thou hast spoken must endure.

Is Thine arm shortened, Thine ear dulled?
What Thou hast sworn hast Thou forgot?
God of the everlasting years,
All else may fail; Thou failest not.

Against the foeman’s fiery darts
I wield anew the Spirit’s sword,
And answer every fresh assault
With ever fresh “Thus saith the Lord.”

And when some promised blessing seems
Too great, too wonderful for me,
I dare by faith to call it mine,
With “It is written” all my plea.

‘Mid shifting sands of doubt and fear
This is the one foundation stone;
My soul hath cast her anchor here;
I rest upon Thy word alone.

What God Hath Promised

God hath not promised skies always blue
Flower-strewn pathways all our lives through;
God hath not promised sun without rain,
Joy without sorrow, peace without pain.

God hath not promised we shall not know
Toil and temptation, trouble and woe;
He hath not told us we shall not bear
Many a burden, many a care.

God hath not promised smooth roads and wide,
Swift, easy travel, needing no guide;
Never a mountain rocky and steep,
Never a river turbid and deep.

But God hath promised strength for the day
Rest for the labor, light for the way;
Grace for the trials, help from above;
Unfailing sympathy, undying love.

When I Think of Thee

When I think of just myself and my little cares,
Looming large and crowding close, hindering my prayers,
Of my weakness and my sins, I am sore depressed;
Weary, weary grows my thought; I can find no rest.
When I think upon the world and its many woes –
Hunger, misery and crime – how the long list grows!
Greed and hatred and unrest, strifes that never cease,
Weary, weary grows my thought; I can find no peace.

When I meditate on Thee and Thy works, O Lord,
On Thy strength and majesty, on Thy changeless word;
On Thy Steadfast faithfulness, reaching to the sky;
On Thy patient, watchful care over such as I;
On Thine everlasting love, high and strong and deep;
On Thy wisdom and Thy truth and Thy power to keep;
When I think of what Thou art and what Thy power has done;
When I number all the gifts given in Thy Son —
I forget the things that pass in the things that bide,
And my soul can rest in peace, fed and satisfied.

While We Are Waiting

Give us the joy of the thought of Thy coming
‘Mid all the griefs that encompass us here,
‘Mid awful anguish and dread desolation,
Voices of wailing, of madness and fear;
Fullness of joy shall we have in Thy presence,
When the long tale of earth’s sorrow shall close;
Give us the earnest of that blessed gladness;
Joy of the world, be our strength in these woes.

Give us the peace of the thought of Thy coming
‘Mid raging war and the rumors of war,
Safe in the cleft of the rock do Thou hide us,
Shelter us far from the tempests’ wild roar;
Under Thy wings shall no evil betide us;
In Thy strong arm shall our confidence be;
Who can make trouble when Thou givest quiet?
Peace of the world, we are trusting in Thee.

Give us the truth of the thought of thy coming,
While the world questions and doubts and denies;
How it has scoffed at the words of the warning!
How it has welcomed the old serpent lies!
“Where is thy God now?” it asks in derision;
“All things continue as all things have been;
Where is his promise? For long hath he tarried.”
Thou who art Truth, let thy truth now be seen.

Give us the hope in the thought of thy coming;
Let that sure word be our comfort and stay;
Waiting and hasting thy day of appearing;
Keep us untroubled by doubt or dismay.
Though earth be rent and the heavens be shaken,
Though the great mountains be cast in the sea,
Thou art our help in the hour of affliction;
Hope of the world, where is hope but in thee?

Give us the light of the thought of Thy coming;
Dark is the night, and its shadows are nigh,
Dim, flaring lamps of man’s genius and learning –
All, all have failed us they flicker and die.
Dark is the night, but above and beyond it
Soon shall the day break and shadows all flee;
Soon shall we see Thine ineffable glory;
Light of the world, we are following Thee.

Give us the life of the thought of thy coming,
While Death’s fell forces high carnival hold;
While, all unhindered, vast tides of destruction
Over the world in red billows are rolled;
Thou who shalt break all the swords of the mighty,
Thou who wilt sunder the spear and the bow,
Haste thou and come, to destroy all destruction,
Thou – Life Incarnated – defeat thy last foe.

Your Father Knoweth

God knoweth the need of my life
For shelter and raiment and food;
In each trifling care of the day
The word of His promise is good;
He knoweth my thought from afar,
The wish that I never have told,
And every unspoken desire
His wisdom doth grant or withhold.

He knoweth the way that I take;
Each step of that way He hath planned;
And, walking through sunshine or storm,
I walk in the shade of His hand.
In deserts untrodden and drear,
Where foes in the darkness may hide,
He leaveth me never alone;
He sendeth me light and a guide.

God knoweth the need of my soul —
The trial that calls for His grace,
The weakness that leans on His strength,
The fear that looks up to His face.
He knoweth what sifting is best
To scatter the chaff from the wheat
And lay all my self-righteous pride
Low down in the dust at His feet.

He knoweth me — yet He can love,
Can wait with love’s patience divine,
My stubborn and arrogant heart
Its will to His own to resign;
He knoweth my frame is but dust;
He knoweth how much it can bear;
I rest in that knowledge supreme;
I trust in His power and care.