And is it so, I shall be like Thy Son?
Is this the grace which He for me has won?
Father of glory! Thought beyond all thought,
In glory to His own blest likeness brought!
O Jesus, Lord, who loved me like to Thee?
Fruit of Thy work! With Thee, too, there to see
Thy glory, Lord, while endless ages roll,
Myself the prize and travail of Thy soul.
Nor I alone; Thy loved ones all, complete,
In glory around Thee with joy shall meet;
All like Thee, for Thy glory like Thee, Lord!
Object supreme of all, by all adored!
And yet it must be so! A perfect state,
To meet Christ’s perfect love — what we await;
The Spirit’s hopes, desires, in us inwrought,
Our present joy — with living blessings fraught.
The heart is satisfied, can ask no more;
All thought of self is now forever o’er;
Christ, its unmingled Object, fills the heart
In blest, adoring love — its endless part.
J. N. Darby, 1872