I Tim. i. 15.
From
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.
T. P.
