I Tim. i. 15.
the palace of His glory,
From the radiance and the rest,
Came the Son of God to seek me,
Bear me home upon His breast.
There from that eternal brightness
Did His thoughts flow forth to me--
He in His great love would have me
Ever there with Him to be.
Far away, undone, forsaken,
Not for Him my heart was sore;
But for need and bitter hunger--
Christ desired I nevermore.
Could it be that in the glory,
Ere of Him I had a thought,
He was yearning o'er the lost one,
Whom His precious Blood had bought?
That it was His need that brought Him
Down to the accursed tree,
Deeper than His deep compassion,
Wondrous thought! His need of me.
Trembling, I had hoped for mercy,
Some low place within his door--
But the crown, the throne, the mansion,
He made ready long before.
And in dim and distant ages,
In those courts so bright and fair,
Ere I was, was He rejoicing,
All He won, with me to share.