He could not bear the dreaded cross.
He could not count this world but loss,
He could not face its scorn and shame,
Nor wear the Savior’s lowly name.
But sickness came, and death drew near,
And with it sorrow, pain, and fear,
And now he longs to be forgiven,
And wear a glorious crown in heaven.
Now christian friends drew round and prayed.
And many a warning word they said;
But all their words to him were loss,
He sought the crown, but shunned the cross.
Till, in the vision of the night,
The One drew near whose word is light,
And o’er the sleeper kindly bent,
And to His loving heart gave vent.
“Poor sinner; I am Christ thy God:
Behold the crown, bought with my blood:
Thou couldst not bear one pang for me,
“Who died, from hell to set thee free!
Thou couldst not wear my easy yoke,
Who all thy galling fetters broke,
Nor meet for me, slight, scorn, disgrace,
Who took for thee the servant’s place;
Thou couldst not count the world as loss—
Well—take the crown without the cross.”
These gracious words the sleeper woke,
And into rapturous strains he broke;
Thy cross, thy shame, be all my own:
Thine, Savior, only is the crown.
A.A.W.