"If ye loved me ye would rejoice, because... I go to the Father."—John 14.
LORD, we rejoice that Thou art gone
To sit upon the Father's throne;
And, all Thy days of suffering o'er,
Thou now shalt weep and grieve no more.
Lord, we delight Thy path to trace,
So full of wisdom, power and grace;
To sit as learners at Thy feet,
And find Thy loving words so sweet.
The desert and the mountain brow,
Garden and lake are sacred now;
Each spot Thy holy footsteps trod-
The Son of man, the Christ of God.
We love to muse on Olivet,
The guest-room we shall ne'er forget,
Nor thy dark vale, Gethsemane!
The groans, and sweat, and agony!
But how our hearts again, again
Upon Thee on the cross remain;
Searching the heights and depths to know
Of love, e'en greater: than Thy woe!
O wondrous cross! O blessed tree!
We glory now in naught but thee;
Where God's own Lamb was crucified,
And, for our sins a ransom; died!
We love to look within the tomb
Thy vict'ry robbed of all its gloom;
The stone, the guilt-all rolled away,
Witness that death has lost its prey.
We joy to see Thee, Lord, arise
Triumphant through the opening skies;
And hear the shouts of rapture there
Thee worthy,-Thee alone,-declare!
Worthy to sit upon the throne!
Worthy to reign as Lord, alone!
The Lamb of God for sinners slain,
Worthy at God's right hand to reign!
Lord, we rejoice that Thou art there,
In spirit we Thy triumphs share;
But perfect will our rapture be,
(When we Thy face in glory see)
Or-When we shall share them all with Thee.
D.
SHALL I distrust Thee, O my God?
Whom can I trust but Thee?
I rest upon Thy faithful word;
I call Thee Abba, Savior, Lord;
For Thou art God to me.
Creator! I Thy creature owe
All that I am to Thee;
Thy hands each day each gift bestow,
Provide for all my wants below;
For Thou art God to me.
Savior! how blessed is that name!
Salvation is from Thee.
'Twas from Thy bosom Jesus came,
To bear my sins, and curse, and shame,
For Thou art God to me.
"Abba," my Father—God Thou art,
Abba! I cry to Thee;
Among Thy children is my part, -
I have the witness in my heart,
Thou "Abba " art to me.
All that I have or hope to have,
I have my God from Thee:
He who for me His own Son gave,
And raised as First-born from the grave,
Is God of Love to me.
Yes, I will trust Thee, I will cleave
All my life long to Thee:
No more, by doubts Thy spirit grieve
But all thy promises believe,
A God of truth to me.
D.
THE "MAN OF SORROWS."
O! ever homeless Stranger,
Thus dearest Friend to me:
And outcast in the manger
That Thou might'st with us be.
How rightly rose the praises
Of heaven, that wondrous night
When shepherds hid their faces
In brightest angel-light:
More just those acclamations,-
Than when the glorious band
Chanted earth's deep foundations,
Just laid by God's right hand.
Come now and view that manger:
The Lord of glory see,
A houseless, homeless stranger
In this poor world for thee.
To God in the highest-glory,'-
'And peace on earth' -to find;
And learn that wondrous story-
' Good pleasure in mankind.'
O strange, yet fit beginning,
Of all that life of woe,
In which Thy grace was winning
Poor man his God to know.
Bless'd babe who lowly liest,
In manger-cradle there;
Descended from the Highest,
Our sorrows all to share.
O, suited now in nature
For love's divinest ways,
To make the fallen creature
The vessel of Thy praise.
O love all thought surpassing,
That thou should'st with us be;
Nor yet in triumph passing-
But human infancy.
We cling to Thee in weakness,
The manger and the cross-
We gaze upon Thy meekness
Through suffering, pain, and loss.
There see the Godhead-glory
Shine through that human vail,
And willing hear the story
Of love that's come to heal.
My soul in secret follows
The footsteps of His love-
I trace the Man of Sorrows
His boundless grace to prove.
A child in growth and stature,
Yet full of wisdom rare:
Sonship, in conscious nature,-
His words and ways declare.
Yet still, in meek submission,.
His patient path He trod;
To wait His heav'nly mission,
Unknown to all but God.
But who, Thy path of service,
Thy steps removed from ill,
Thy patient love to serve us,
With human tongue can tell?
Midst sin and all corruption
Where hatred did abound,
Thy path of pure perfection
Was light to all around.
In scorn, neglect, reviling,
Thy patient grace stood fast,
Man's malice unavailing
To move-Thy heart to haste.
O'er all, Thy perfect goodness
Rose blessedly divine-
Poor hearts oppressed with sadness
Found ever rest in Thine.
The strong man, in his armor,
Thou mettest in Thy grace,
Didst spoil the mighty charmer
Of our unhappy race.
The chains of man, his victim,
Were loosened by Thy hand-
No evils that afflict him
Before Thy power could stand.
Disease, and death, and demon,
All fled before Thy word,
As darkness the dominion
Of day's returning lord!
The love that bore our burden
On the accursed tree,
Would give the heart its pardon,
And set the sinner free.
Love that made Thee a mourner
In this sad world of woe,
Made wretched man a scorner
Of grace that brought Thee low.
Still in Thee, love's sweet savor
Shone forth in every deed,
And showed God's loving favor
To every soul in need.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I pause,-for on Thy vision
The day is hast'ning now,
When for our lost condition
Thy holy head shall bow.
When deep to deep still calling,
The waters reach Thy soul;
And death and wrath appalling-
Their waves shall o'er Thee roll.
O day of mightiest sorrow-
Day of unfathomed grief-
When Thou shouldst taste the horror
Of wrath without relief.
O day of man's dishonor,
When, for Thy love supreme,
Man sought to mar Thine honor,
Thy glory turn to shame.
O day of our confusion-
When Satan's darkness lay,
In hatred and delusion,
On ruined nature's way.
Thou soughtest for compassion,
Some heart Thy grief to know;
To watch Thine hour of passion,
For comforters in woe.
No eye was found to, pity-
No heart to bear Thy woe:
But shame, and scorn, and spitting!
None cared Thy name to know.
The pride of careless greatness
Could wash its hands of Thee:-
Priests-that should plead for weakness-
Must Thine accusers be.
Man's boasting love disowns Thee;
Thine own the danger flee-
A Judas only owns Thee,
That Thou may'st captive be.
O man, how hast thou proved,
What in thy heart is found-
By grace divine unmoved,-
By self in fetters bound.-
Yet with all grief acquainted
The Man of Sorrows-view,
Unmoved—by ill untainted,
The path of grace pursue.
In death, obedience yielding
To God, His Father's will:
Love still its power is wielding
To meet all human ill.
On him who had disowned Thee,
Thine eye could look in love-
(Midst threats and taunts around Thee),
To tears of grace to move.
What words of love and mercy
Flow, from Thy lips of grace,
For followers that desert Thee,-
For sinners in disgrace!
The robber learns beside Thee,
Upon the cross of shame,
While taunts and jeers deride Thee,
The savor of Thy Name.
Then finished all, in meekness
Thou to Thy Father's hand-
(Perfect Thy strength in weakness)
Thy spirit dost commend.
O Lord, Thy wondrous story,
My inmost soul doth move;
I ponder o'er Thy glory-
Thy lonely path of love.
But O, Divine Sojourner,
Midst man's unfathomed ill,
Love that made Thee a mourner,
It is not man's to tell.
We worship when we see Thee,
In all Thy sorrowing path-
We long soon to be with Thee;
Who bore for us the wrath.
Come then, expected Savior-
Thou Man of Sorrows, come!
Almighty, Blest Deliv'rer,
And take us to Thee, home!