And tell me of the love of God who gave his only Son
To die and suffer on the cross for deeds that I have
done;
And tell to me the holy words the blessed Jesus spake
When from the courts of Heaven he came, an exile for
my sake.
I love to hear how Mary sat at the Redeemer’s
feet,—
I wish I could have been there too, I would have shared
her seat;
I envy much the little group that met at Martha’s
board
To listen to the gentle voice of him whom they adored.
I envy those rude fishermen who rowed him o’er
the sea,
Who walked with him and talked with him as I now talk
to thee;
I envy those who brought their sick, just at the close
of day,
That they might be restored to health when Jesus passed
that way.
Had I been living then I know I would have joined
the crowd—
“Have mercy, oh have mercy, Lord!” I would
have cried aloud.
Thou sayest that I still may go and tell him all my
grief,
And go I will; “Lord, I believe, help thou my
unbelief.”
I know my heart is very hard, I feel the load within;
But in the blood of Jesus Christ I wash away my sin;
I lay my burden at his feet while to his cross I cling;
I do so long to hear him speak death seems a blessed
thing.
Now kneel here close beside me and lift thy voice
in prayer
That I may say his will be done whatever I may bear,
Oh, I should love to work for him, if that
could be his will,
But pray that I may be resigned—may suffer
and be still.
Does not the blood of Jesus alone cleanse from all
sin?-who but sinners are invited to the great Fountain?
Are my robes filthy?—where can they be
made white but in the blood of the Lamb? Is my
heart obdurate and unbelieving?—who can
soften and subdue it save the Almighty One who listens
to its throbbings and knows all its trouble?
Am I tempted, sorely tempted?—who can pity
like Him who in the wilderness met face to face the
great enemy, the great tempter of mankind? Ah,
my poor heart aches when I think of all that is in
the past and of all the future may have in store for
me. But is there no balm in Gilead? is there
no physician there? Will He not take me by the
hand and whisper, “Be of good cheer; thy sins
are forgiven thee”? Will He not heal thy
wounds by pouring into them the oil of consolation?
He has promised to do this—yea, much more
than this; and will he for the first time in the history
of mankind fail to perform what he has spoken?
Nay, nay, and I will doubt no longer....
O Jesus, my Mediator, my Redeemer, have compassion
upon me, and declare thyself to the Father as THE
LORD MY RIGHTEOUSNESS.—Sept. 1860.
Trust in God! He will direct thee,
He will love and will protect thee;
Lean upon his mighty arm,
Fear no danger, fear no harm.
Trust him for his grace and power;
Trust him in each trying hour.
