Thou'rt blind; He'll take the scales away,
And let in everlasting day;

Naked Thou art; but He shall dress
Thy blushing soul in Righteousness.

Art thou a weeper? Grief shall fly;
For who can weep with Jesus by?
No terror shall thy hopes annoy;
No tear except the tear of joy.

Admit Him, for the human breast
Ne'er entertain'd so kind a guest :
Admit Him, for you can't expel;
Where'er He comes, He comes to dwell.

Admit Him, ere His anger burn ;
His feet departed, ne'er return!
Admit Him, or the hour's at hand,
When at His door denied you'll stand.

J. Grigg

CLXIX

THE VOICE OF JESUS

I heard the voice of Jesus say,
"Come unto Me and rest;

Lay down, thou weary one, lay down
Thy head upon my breast."

I came to Jesus as I was,

Weary, and worn, and sad,
I found in Him a resting-place,
And He has made me glad.

I heard the voice of Jesus say,
“Behold! I freely give
The living water; thirsty one,
Stoop down, and drink, and live!"
I came to Jesus, and I drank
Of that life-giving stream;

My thirst was quench'd, my soul revived,
And now I live in Him.

I heard the voice of Jesus say,
"I am this dark world's light;
Look unto Me, thy morn shall rise,
And all thy day be bright."

I look'd to Jesus, and I found

In Him my star, my sun;

And in that light of life I'll walk
Till travelling days are done.

H. Bonar

CLXX

AFFLICTION

Within this leaf, to every eye
So little worth, doth hidden lie
Most rare and subtle fragrancy.

Wouldst thou its secret strength unbind ?
Crush it, and thou shalt perfume find,
Sweet as Arabia's spicy wind.

In this stone, so poor and bare
Of shape and lustre, patient care
Will find for thee a jewel rare.

But first must skilful hands essay
With file and flint to clear away
The film which hides its fire from day.

This leaf? this stone? It is thy heart :
It must be crush'd by pain and smart,
It must be cleans'd by sorrow's art-

Ere it will yield a fragrance sweet,
Ere it will shine, a jewel meet
To lay before thy dear Lord's feet.

Bishop Wilberforce

CLXXI

THE HEART'S HOME

Hark! hark! my soul! angelic songs are swelling O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat

shore,

How sweet the truth those blessed strains are telling, Of that new life, when sin shall be no more.

Darker than night life's shadows fall around us,
And like benighted men we miss our mark :
God hides Himself, and grace has scarcely found us,
Ere death finds out his victims in the dark.

Onward we go, for still we hear them singing,
"Come weary souls, for Jesus bids you come,"
And thro' the dark, its echoes sweetly ringing,
The music of the gospel leads us home.

Far, far away, like bells at evening pealing,
The voice of Jesus sounds o'er land and sea,
And laden souls by thousands meekly stealing,
Kind Shepherd, turn their weary steps to Thee.

Rest comes at last, though life be long and dreary, The day must dawn, and darksome night be past, All journeys end in welcomes to the weary,

And heaven, the heart's true home, will come at last. F. W. Faber

CLXXII

THE HEART'S LONGING

O Paradise!

O Paradise!

Who doth not crave for rest?

Who would not seek the happy land,
Where they that loved are blest?
Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,
All rapture through and through,
In God's most holy sight.

O Paradise! O Paradise!
'Tis weary waiting here:
We long to be where Jesus is,
To feel, to see Him near;
Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,

All rapture through and through,
In God's most holy sight.

We want to sin no more;

We want to be as pure on earth
As on thy spotless shore;

Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,
All rapture through and through,

In God's most holy sight.

F. W. Faber

CLXXIII

A PRAYER

Thou, who dost dwell alone

Thou, who dost know thine own

Thou, to whom all are known

From the cradle to the grave—

Save, O save.

From the world's temptations,

From tribulations;

From that fierce anguish

Wherein we languish ;

From that torpor deep

Wherein we lie asleep,

Heavy as death, cold as the grave;

Save, O save.

When the soul, growing clearer,
Sees God no nearer :

When the soul, mounting higher,

To God comes no nigher :
But the arch-fiend, Pride,
Mounts at her side.