« ZurückWeiter »
THE LOVE OF CHRIST.
I bore thee on My shoulders and rejoiced :
Men only marked upon My shoulders borne The branding cross; and shouted hungry-voiced,
Or wagged their heads in scorn.
Thee did nails grave upon My hands, thy name
I, God, Priest, Sacrifice.
A thief upon My right hand and My left;
Six hours alone, athirst, in misery :
A hiding-place for thee.
Nailed to the racking cross, than bed of down
More dear, whereon to stretch Myself and sleep : So did I win a kingdom, -share My crown ;
A harvest, —come and reap.
HOU art the living Vine, the branches we;
Oh, make Thou me
So to be Thine
I long to lose my life in Thine,—to say
On every day, “I live;" yet straight thereafter quickly add,
“Not I, the sad, But Jesus lives in me, and makes me glad.”
I envy Paul what time he softly said
Of the once Dead,
“I AM THE VINE,
"“ We bear about His dying marks : His life
Throughout earth's strife Is manifested in us, full and rife.”
Oh, thus to have Thy life in mine out-shown,
Thy very own,
His strength; and this
“ This sympathy is His ; He ever lives,
And ever gives,
• This comfort from His fount of comfort flows,
'Tis He bestows
O Saviour, make me one with Thee ! I bear
In mind Thy prayer,
YE ARE THE BRANCHES."
And bring it to Thee thus : In that dark night
Of sorrow's might,
Grant, therefore, this blest oneness ; let me feel,
As now I kneel,
But only Thine,