Heb. vii. 24, 25.
Sweet to trace His
toiling footsteps
Here
amidst the desert sands;
Bear in memory all
His sorrow,
Thorn-clad
head and pierced hands!
Learn His love
beside the manger,
Learn
it on the stormy wave,
By the well, and in
the garden--
Learn
it by the Cross and grave.
Yet not only in
remembrance
Do
we watch that stream of love--
Still a mighty
torrent flowing
From
the throne of God above.
Still a treasure
all uncounted--
Still
a story half untold--
Unexhausted and
unfathomed,
Fresh
as in the days of old.
Christ at God's
right hand unwearied
By
our tale of shame and sin,
Day by day, and
hour by hour,
Welcoming
each wanderer in;
On His heart amidst
the glory,
Bearing
all our grief and care;
Every burden, ere
we feel it,
Weighed
and measured in His prayer.
Fragrant thus with
priestly incense
Each
distress, each sorrow tells
Thoughts that fill
the heart of Jesus
In
the glory where He dwells.
All His love, His
joy, His glory,
By
His Spirit here made known,
Whilst that Spirit
speaks the sorrows
Of
His saints before the throne.
He, of old the Man
of Sorrows,
Pleads
before the Father's face,
Knowing all the
needed solace,
Claiming
all the needed grace.
We, so faithless
and so weary,
Serving
with impatient will--
He unwearied in our
service,
Gladly
ministering still.
Girded with the
golden girdle,
Shining
as the mighty sun,
Still His
piercèd hands will finish
All
His work of love begun.
On the night of His
betrayal,
In
the glory of the throne,
Still with faithful
patience washing
All
defilement from His own.
When the Father's
house resoundeth
With
the music and the song;
When the bride in
glorious raiment
Sees
the One who loved so long;
Then for new and
blessed service
Girt
afresh will He appear,
Stand and serve
before His angels
Those
who waited for Him here.
He who led them
through the desert,
Watched
and guided day by day,
Turned the flinty
rocks to water,
Made
them brooks beside the way--
He will bring them
where the fountains
Fresh
and full spring forth above,
Still throughout
the endless ages
Serving
in the joy of love.
T. P.
