“He held the lamp of truth that day
So low that none could miss their way,
And yet so high to bring in sight
That picture fair, the world's great "Light.”
The lamp thus coming in between,
The hand that held it ne'er was seen.
He held the pitcher, stooping low,
To lips of little ones below,
Then raised it to the weary saint,
And bid him drink when sick and faint.
The pitcher coming thus between,
The hand that held it ne'er was seen.
He blew the trumpet loud and clear,
That trembling sinners need not fear;
Then with a louder note and bold
To raze the walls of Satan's hold.
The trumpet coming thus between,
The hand that held it scarce was seen.
And when the Master says, Well done,
Good and faithful servant thou,
Lay down the pitcher and the lamp,
Lay down the trumpet, leave the camp,'
Those weary hands will then be seen
Clasped in those pierc'd ones, naught between.”