The following lines from the pen of Gambold, a Moravian Pastor, may not be generally known. They contain such a fund of precious truth, and so much deep experience, that we are anxious to assign them a permanent place in the pages of “Things New and Old.”
That “I am thine, my Lord and God,
Sprinkled and ransomed by thy blood”—
Repeat that word once more,
With such an energy and light,
That this world’s flattery nor spite
To shake me never may have power.
From various cares my heart retires;
Though deep and boundless its desires,
I’m now to please but One:
He, before whom the elders bow,
With Him is all my business now,
And with the souls that are His own.
This is my joy that ne’er can fail
To see my Saviour’s arm prevail,
To mark the steps of grace:
Now new-born souls, convinced of sin,
His blood revealed to them within,
Extol the Lamb in every place.
With these my happy lot is cast!
Through the world’s deserts rude and waste,
Or through its gardens fair;
Whether the storms of trouble sweep”
Or all in dead supineness sleep,
Still to go on be my whole care.
See! the dear sheep, by Jesus drawn,
In blest simplicity move on;
They trust His Shepherd’s crook.
Beholders many faults may find,
But they can guess at Jesus’ mind
Content, if written in His book.
Ο all ye wise, ye rich, ye just,
Who the blood’s doctrine have discussed,
And judge it weak and slight:
Grant that I may (the rest’s your own)
In shame and poverty sit down,
At this one well-spring of delight.
Indeed, if Jesus ne’er was slain,
Or aught can make His ransom vain,
That now it heals no more:
If His heart’s tenderness is fled,
If of a Church He is not Head,
Nor Lord of all as heretofore;
Then (so refers my state to Him)
Unwarranted I must esteem,
And wretched all I do.
Ah! my heart throbs and seizes fast
The covenant that will ever last;
It knows, it knows these things are true.
No, my dear Lord, in following thee,
And not in dark uncertainty,
This foot obedient moves:
‘Tis with a Brother, and a King,
Who many to His yoke will bring,
Whoever lives, and ever loves.
Now, then, my Way, my Truth, my Life,
Henceforth let sorrow, doubt, and strife,
Drop off like autumn leaves:
Henceforth, as privileged by Thee,
Simple and undistracted be
My soul, which to thy scepter cleaves.
Let me my weary mind recline
On that eternal love of thine,
And human thoughts forget:
Childlike attend what thou wilt say;
Go forth and do it while ‘tis day,
Yet never leave my sweet retreat.
At all times to my spirit bears
An inward witness, soft and clear,
Of thy redeeming power;
This will instruct thy child, and fit,
Will sparkle forth whate’er is meet,
For exigence of every hour.
Thus all the sequel is well weighed;
I cast myself upon thine aid,
A sea where none can sink:
Yea, in that sphere I stand, poor worm,
Where thou wilt for thy name perform
Above whate’er I ask or think.