AUGUST, 1912
Depths of mercy, can it be?
Heights of glory, all for roe!
Boundless ocean of God’s love,
Every moment do I prove.
Washed in Christ’s atoning blood,
Gone forever is sin’s load;
Knowing this, gives peace divine,
Jesus, Saviour, Thou art mine.
Round me stand those giant peaks,
Each one of Jehovah speaks;
Balanced cloud, or roaring flood,
Tells me of the living God.
Naught but rapture fills my eyes
As I gaze on yonder skies;
Heaven’s deep azure vault makes known
How He spake, and all was done!
Foaming torrent, quiet dell,
Both alike His wisdom tell;
Snow-capt mountains, tinged with gold,
Silver moon, His power unfold.
Every star by name He calls,
At His feet each seraph falls;
Heaven and earth alike proclaim
Countless glories of His Name.
This is He who for me died,
And my soul is satisfied;
Yet, like Sheba’s queen of old,
I can say, “Not half was told”
I. S. T.