The initials and the finals give a saying of the Lord Jesus Christ’s which constitutes both a command and a promise.
An aged woman, who to fast and pray
Remained within the temple night and day.
A tribe “beloved of the Lord,” whose arm
Covered and sheltered it from every harm.
A child to whom his mother gave a name
To mark his father’s death, his country’s shame.
One of the twelve appointed by a king,
In monthly course his services to bring.
A town where dwelt a remnant of a race
Destined to yield to Israel its place.
The place to which a wounded man was brought
By one who to assist him kindly sought.
What Solomon at Ezion-geber made,
By which to carry on his foreign trade.
The waters by whose banks two monarchs fought,
Where Meroz to the Lord no succor brought.
The man who lost the blessing due to years,
Although he sought it carefully with tears.
On wither’d trees we look in vain for fruit,
Dead are the branches on a sapless root;
The Christian’s Root is Christ, from whence supplies
Of grace and strength in copious streams arise.
MY pulse is the clock of my life;
It shows how my moments are flying;
It marks the departure of time,
And it tells me how fast men are dying.