Yet, could I hear Him once again, As I have heard of old, Methinks He should not call in vain Oh Thou! that every thought canst know, My struggling will by grace control! Renew my broken vow! What blessed light breaks on my soul? Bishop Reginald Heber. 1827. CCCXXXII. "Was du vor tausend Jahren." A thousand years have fleeted; On all who come to Thee. Dark gloom my spirit filling, To me no ray was granted, With grief my heart was aching; 66 My bitter anguish quell; 66 Thy promised succour give me, "And this dark night dispel !" With tears that fast were flowing, I sought Thee through the crowd, Oh! then my grief diminish'd; I came with steps that falter'd ; Our hope, Lord, faileth never, When Thou Thy word dost plight : My fears then ceased for ever, And all my soul was light. Thou gavest me Thy blessing; Frances Elizabeth Cox. 1841. From Frederic de la Motte Fouqué. CCCXXXIII. I heard the voice of Jesus say, 66 "Come unto Me and rest; Lay down, thou weary one, lay down "Thy head upon My breast!" I came to Jesus as I was, Weary, and worn, and sad ; I heard the voice of Jesus say, Of that life-giving stream ; My thirst was quench'd, my soul revived, I heard the voice of Jesus say, "I am this dark world's light; "Look unto Me, thy morn shall rise, 66 And all thy day be bright." I look'd to Jesus, and I found In Him my Star, my Sun; And in that light of life I'll walk Till travelling days are done. Horatius Bonar. 1856. A A CCCXXXIV. In evil long I took delight, Sure never till my latest breath It seem'd to charge me with His death, I saw my sins His Blood had spilt, Alas! I knew not what I did! A second look He gave, which said, "This Blood is for thy ransom paid; "I die, that thou may'st live." Thus, while His death my sin displays In all its blackest hue, Such is the mystery of grace, It seals my pardon too. With pleasing grief, and mournful joy, My spirit now is fill'd, That I should such a life destroy, Yet live by Him I kill'd. John Newton. 1779. II. THE ANSWER. "I will arise, and go to my Father"-(LUKE XV. CCCXXXV. And have I measured half my days, And half my journey run, Nor tasted the Redeemer's grace, Nor yet my work begun ? The morning of my life is past, Darkness He makes His secret place, Thick clouds surround His Throne; A God that hides Himself He is, An inaccessible Abyss Of uncreated Light. Far off He is, yet always near; O'er earth a banish'd man I rove, Where is the pardoning God of Love, 18.) |