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.
Yet it must be! Thy love had not its
rest
Were Thy redeemed not with Thee fully
blest—
That love that gives not as the world, but
shares
All it possesses with its loved co-heirs!
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.
Father of mercies, in Thy presence bright
All this shall be unfolded in the light;
Thy children, all, with joy Thy counsels
Know
Fulfilled; patient in hope while here below.