Our Man’s rejected; don’t you know?
It happened many years ago.
Yea, centuries have passed away
Since it was Great Election Day
In Salem’s city—e’en the same
Where God the Lord had set His name.
From every corner of the land,
O’er mountain slope and desert sand,
With eager step they gather in,
Till, ‘mid the clamor and the din
Of busy streets, a voice is heard:
“Come now, your votes you must record.
Christ, or Barabbas; whom say ye?
Which of the twain shall I set free?”
And then, as with one mighty voice,
The multitude proclaim their choice:
“Our man’s Barabbas; set him free,
Although a murderer is he.”
“What shall I do with Jesus, then?
Am I to crucify your King?”
“Away with him!” they loudly cry;
“We own Him not; let Jesus die.”
And yet He was the Elect One,
Chosen of heaven—th’ Eternal Son.
Thus Jew and Gentile did unite
To quench the “Everlasting Light.”
Such is the World the same today
As when they cried, “Away, away
With Jesus! for no king we own
Save him who sits on Caesar’s throne.”
Then how, belov’d of God, shall we,
By that same Jesus’ blood made free,
Join in the world’s unhallowed strife,
And vote, forsooth, as if that life
Pour’d out on Calvary’s cruel Tree,
Meant nothing now to you and me?
It cannot be. Are we at one
With those who still reject God’s Son?
Are Light and Darkness so agreed
That mingled is the heaven-born seed?
Or, is this world changed so
That it is fond of Jesus now?
Ah not for if you court its smile,
As swiftly speeds this “little while,”
‘Mong worldlings one thing is clear-
“You must not speak of Jesus here;
Aware with Him—now we’ll agree”—
No room for Jesus yet, you see.
As Pilate was made friends again
With Herod, when our Lord was slain,
So is it still; and men, whose souls
Are wide asunder as the poles,
Can join their hands and loudly say:
“Our man is in—we’ve gained the day!”
And who may “our man” be, whose name
Is borne upon the wings of fame?
If you with worldlings combine,
Then he’s the world’s man and thine.
O child of heaven, can it be so?
May we have grace to answer, “NO.”
Our Man’s rejected; and, until
He comes to reign in Zion’s Hill,
Like Mephibosheth we shall mourn,
And wait our absent Lord’s return.
Why then, impatient, seek to reign
While He’s rejected? Where’s the gain?
Yea, rather, reckon up the loss,
If we thus fail to bear the cross.
We’ll hear the shout of the Harvest Home;
And then our time to reign shall come.
Election days can move us not;
For that great day, by man forgot,
Is still remembered by our God
And all redeemed by Jesus’ blood.
It seems as yesterday that He
Was “voted” to the shameful Tree.
Yet from the portals of the tomb
A mighty Conqueror He did come:
Head of the New Creation He;
Now Sons of God, in Him, are we;
To tell abroad His matchless worth
While we may sojourn here on earth,
And show, throughout our little time,
We’re children of a heavenly clime;
Content to wait th’ appointed hour
When, ‘mid the glory of His power,
The dawn shall break, the shadows flee,
And Christ shall reign from sea to sea.