John xx. 21.
"Who
are these who come amongst us,
Strangers
to our speech and
ways?
Passing
by our joys and treasures,
Singing
in the darkest
days?
Are
they pilgrims journeying on
From
a land we have not known?"
We
are come from a far country,
From
a land beyond the
sun;
We
are come from that geat glory
Round
our God's eternal
throne:
Thence
we come, and thither go;
Here
no resting-place we know.
Far
within the depth of glory,
In
the Father's house
above,
We
have learnt His wondrous secret,
We
have learnt His heart of
love:
We
have seen and we have shared
That
bright joy He hath prepared.
We
have seen the golden city
Shining
as the jasper
stone;
Heard
the song that fills the heavens
Of
the Man upon the
throne;
Well
that glorious One we know--
He
hath sent us here below.
We
have drunk the living waters,
On
the Tree of Life have
fed;
Therefore
deathless do we journey
'Midst
the dying and the
dead;
And
unthirsting do we stand
Here
amidst the barren sand.
Round
us, as a cloud of glory
Lighting
up the midnight
road,
Falls
the light from that bright city,
Showing
us where He has
trod;
All
that here might please the sight
Lost
in that eternal light.
"Wherefore
are ye come amongst us
From
the glory to the
gloom?"
Christ
in glory breathed within us
Life,
His life, and bid us
come.
Here
as living springs to be--
Fountains
of that life are we.
Fountains
of the life that floweth
Ever
downwards from the
throne,
Witnesses
of that bright glory
Where,
rejected, He is
gone,
Sent
to give the blind their sight,
Turn
the darkness into light.
There,
amidst the joy eternal,
Is
the Man who went
above,
Bearing
marks of all the hatred
Of
the world He sought in
love.
He
has sent us here to tell
Of
His love unchangeable.
He
hath sent us, that in sorrow,
In
rejection, toil, and
loss,
We
may learn the wondrous sweetness,
Learn
the mystery of His
cross--
Learn
the depth of love that traced
That
blest path across the waste.
He
hath sent us highest honours
Of
His cross and shame to
win,
Bear
His light through deepest darkness,
Walk
in white 'midst foulest
sin;
Sing
amidst the wintry gloom,
Sing
the blessed songs of home.
From
the dark and troubled waters
Many
a pearl to Him we
bear;
Golden
sheaves we bring with singing,
Fulness
of His joy we
share;
And
our pilgrim journey o'er,
Praise
with Him for evermore.
T. P.
