A Prayerful Song

1watchman

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O CHRIST, what burdens bowed Thy head!
Our load was laid on Thee;
Thou stoodest in the sinner's stead ---
To bear all ill for me.
A victim led, Thy blood was shed;
Now there's no load for me.

Death and the curse were in our cup ---
O Christ, 'twas full for Thee!
But Thou hast drained the last dark drop;
'Tis empty now for me.
That bitter cup ---love drank it up;
Left but the love for me.

Jehovah lifted up His rod ---
O Christ, it fell on Thee!
Thou wast forsaken of Thy God;
No distance now for me.
Thy blood beneath that rod has flowed;
Thy bruising healeth me.

The tempest's awful voice was heard,
O Christ, it broke on Thee;
Thy open bosom was my ward;
It bore the storm for me.
Thy form was scarred, Thy visage marred;
Now cloudless peace for me.

For me, Lord Jesus, Thou hast died,
And I have died in Thee;
Thou'rt risen: my bands are all untied,
And now Thou liv'st in me.
The Father's face of radiant grace
Shines now in light on me.


LITTLE FLOCK HYMN
- Anne R. Cousin -
1824 - 1906
 
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brinny

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O CHRIST, what burdens bowed Thy head!
Our load was laid on Thee;
Thou stoodest in the sinner's stead ---
To bear all ill for me.
A victim led, Thy blood was shed;
Now there's no load for me.

Death and the curse were in our cup ---
O Christ, 'twas full for Thee!
But Thou hast drained the last dark drop;
'Tis empty now for me.
That bitter cup ---love drank it up;
Left but the love for me.

Jehovah lifted up His rod ---
O Christ, it fell on Thee!
Thou wast forsaken of Thy God;
No distance now for me.
Thy blood beneath that rod has flowed;
Thy bruising healeth me.

The tempest's awful voice was heard,
O Christ, it broke on Thee;
Thy open bosom was my ward;
It bore the storm for me.
Thy form was scarred, Thy visage marred;
Now cloudless peace for me.

For me, Lord Jesus, Thou hast died,
And I have died in Thee;
Thou'rt risen: my bands are all untied,
And now Thou liv'st in me.
The Father's face of radiant grace
Shines now in light on me.


LITTLE FLOCK HYMN
- Anne R. Cousin -
1824 - 1906

Precious lyrics. Thank you for sharing this precious hymn.
 
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1watchman

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Jesus, before Thy face we fall,
Our Lord, our life, our hope, our all;
For we have no where else to flee ---
No sanctuary, Lord, but Thee.

In Thee we ev'ry glory view,
Of safety, strength, and beauty too;
'Tis all our rest and peace to see
Our Sanctuary, Lord, in Thee.

Whatever foes or fears betide,
In Thy blest presence let us hide;
And while we rest our souls on Thee,
Thou shalt our Sanctuary be.

Thro' time, with all its changing scenes,
And all the grief that intervenes,
Let this support each fainting heart,
That Thou our sanctuary art.


- Samuel Medley -
1738 - 1799
 
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1watchman

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Some of the best songs of praise are very old, and this one can be sang to the familiar tune of "This Is My Father's World":

Thou holy One and true,
Our hearts in Thee confide;
And in the circle of Thy love,
As brethren we abide.

In Thee the Father rests,

His own anointed One;
In Thee alone He finds delight,
His well-beloved Son.

In Thee we find delight,
First-born 'mongst brethren Thou;
To Thy dear name alone we cling,
To Thy sure Word we bow.

Teach us that Name to own,
Whilst waiting, Lord, for Thee;
Unholiness and sin to shun,
From all untruth to flee.

- Lord Adalbert P. Cecil -
1841 - 1889




 
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1watchman

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William Cowper, b. 1731; d. 1800 AD. After becoming a lawyer and later a successful business man, he began to drift and reportedly attempted suicide. The rope broke and he was spared for better things. In 1764 as he sat in his garden and reading his bible at Romans 3, he was arrested by verses 24 and 25. He saw it as from God and later said: "I saw the sufficiency of the atonement that Christ had made, my pardon in His blood, the fullness and completeness of my justification". One has remarked that he valued the precious blood of Christ and "...gave himself to writing hymns. He went home to be with Christ April 25, 1800, and there was fulfilled what he had expressed so well in one of his songs: 'then, in a nobler, sweeter song, I'll sing Thy power to save, when this poor lisping, stamm'ring tongue lies silent in the grace".

God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sov'reign will.

[Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace:
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.]

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding ev'ry hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
and scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

LITTE FLOCK HYMN
- William Cowper -
1731 -1800
 
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