He held the lamp of truth at night
So low that none could miss the light,
And yet so high that men could trace
That vision fair—the Saviour’s face;
Thus, though the lamp was held between,
The hand that held it ne’er was seen.
He held the pitcher, stooping low,
To thirsty, dying souls below;
Then raised it to the weary saint,
And bade him drink, when sick and faint;
They drank―the pitcher thus between―
The hand that held it ne’er was seen.
He blew the trumpet soft and clear,
That trembling sinners need not fear;
And then with louder note and bold
To raze the walls of Satan’s hold!
The trumpet coming, thus between,
The hand that held it ne’er was seen.
But when the Master says, “Well done,
Thou good and faithful servant―Come!
Lay down the pitcher and the lamp,
Lay down the trumpet―leave the camp,”
The servant’s hand will then between
The Master’s welcome hand be seen.
Anon.