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Hymns from the East
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And with the tarrying host attend
The Bridegroom, as the Bridegroom’s friend.
III
Hast thou no oil? O foolish soul!
Why didst thou not the hours control?
Why in the darkness slumber still,
Without the oil your lamp to fill?
IV
Go, get your oil, – but no, too late!
The Bridegroom’s come, and closed the gate; —
“O let me knock, for He is kind,
And will not leave my soul behind.”
V
“O let me in, my lamp’s aglow;
How could I, Lord, Thy coming know?
’Twas night, I slumbered, – let me in:
Forgive, O Lord, forgive my sin.”
VI
Too late! The time has gone apace;
Too late, ’tis gone, the hour of grace;
O soul of mine, awake, awake,
And slumber from thine eyelids shake.
I
O Judge of all, when sinful men
To Thy dire judgment seat are brought, —
Tell not the error of my life,
O tell it not.
II
When bowed with grief my tears are shed,
Because my life with sin is fraught,
To angel hosts tell not my sin,
O tell it not.
III
O hide the secrets of my soul,
And give the pardon I have sought,
And to the myriads round Thy throne,
O tell them not.
IV
O merciful and just Thou art;
In pity view my woeful lot,
And shame me not because of sin, —
O tell it not.
I
I brought my merits to the throne,
And set them forth in order there;
I said, “O Lord, Thy servant own,
And let his brow the garland wear;
The grace and virtue of his life,
He won as victor in the strife.”
II
The song that erstwhile filled the place,
Where high the throne of Christ was set,
Grew faint, as on each pensive face
Joy mixed with pain, and pity met; —
Their song had told the debt they owed,
And how the Christ His grace bestowed.
III
O, silence fell, so sharp and chill, —
My soul to meanness pined and shrank,
Forth went my cry in accent shrill,
“My Lord, have I no grace to thank?”
Its echo dying, lingered, sank,
“My Lord, have I no grace to thank?”
IV
I saw His piercéd hands and side,
I saw the thorn-wounds on His brow, —
“My Lord, forgive my sinful pride,
Accept my sore repentance now;”
Then rose high heaven’s adoring prayers,
My grateful song went forth with theirs.
I
The time is drawing nigh,
Even now the day is near,
When Christ from heaven high
The Bridegroom, as the Bridegroom’s friend.
III
Hast thou no oil? O foolish soul!
Why didst thou not the hours control?
Why in the darkness slumber still,
Without the oil your lamp to fill?
IV
Go, get your oil, – but no, too late!
The Bridegroom’s come, and closed the gate; —
“O let me knock, for He is kind,
And will not leave my soul behind.”
V
“O let me in, my lamp’s aglow;
How could I, Lord, Thy coming know?
’Twas night, I slumbered, – let me in:
Forgive, O Lord, forgive my sin.”
VI
Too late! The time has gone apace;
Too late, ’tis gone, the hour of grace;
O soul of mine, awake, awake,
And slumber from thine eyelids shake.
I
O Judge of all, when sinful men
To Thy dire judgment seat are brought, —
Tell not the error of my life,
O tell it not.
II
When bowed with grief my tears are shed,
Because my life with sin is fraught,
To angel hosts tell not my sin,
O tell it not.
III
O hide the secrets of my soul,
And give the pardon I have sought,
And to the myriads round Thy throne,
O tell them not.
IV
O merciful and just Thou art;
In pity view my woeful lot,
And shame me not because of sin, —
O tell it not.
I
I brought my merits to the throne,
And set them forth in order there;
I said, “O Lord, Thy servant own,
And let his brow the garland wear;
The grace and virtue of his life,
He won as victor in the strife.”
II
The song that erstwhile filled the place,
Where high the throne of Christ was set,
Grew faint, as on each pensive face
Joy mixed with pain, and pity met; —
Their song had told the debt they owed,
And how the Christ His grace bestowed.
III
O, silence fell, so sharp and chill, —
My soul to meanness pined and shrank,
Forth went my cry in accent shrill,
“My Lord, have I no grace to thank?”
Its echo dying, lingered, sank,
“My Lord, have I no grace to thank?”
IV
I saw His piercéd hands and side,
I saw the thorn-wounds on His brow, —
“My Lord, forgive my sinful pride,
Accept my sore repentance now;”
Then rose high heaven’s adoring prayers,
My grateful song went forth with theirs.
I
The time is drawing nigh,
Even now the day is near,
When Christ from heaven high
Другие электронные книги автора John Brownlie
Последний отзыв
Книгу прочитать не могу, везде ЛитРес свой нос сунул, как и где скачать полную версию бесплатно!?!?