The Solid Rock

A hymn by Edward Mote

My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly trust in Jesus’ Name.

On Christ the solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.

When darkness seems to hide His face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my Hope and Stay.

When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh may I then in Him be found.
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.

Download a copy of this song at NoiseTrade.

Jesus Paid It All

A hymn by Elvina M. Hall

I hear the Savior say,
“Thy strength indeed is small;
Child of weakness, watch and pray,
Find in Me thine all in all.”

Jesus paid it all,
All to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain,
He washed it white as snow.

For nothing good have I
Whereby Thy grace to claim,
I’ll wash my garments white
In the blood of Calv’ry’s Lamb.

Lord, now indeed I find
Thy power and Thine alone,
Can change the leper’s spots
And melt the heart of stone.

When from my dying bed
My ransomed soul shall rise,
“Jesus died my soul to save,”
Shall rend the vaulted skies.

And when before the throne
I stand in Him complete,
I’ll lay my trophies down
All down at Jesus’ feet.

Download a free Mp3 of the song from Sovereign Grace Music.

Love

By George Herbert

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,  
      Guilty of dust and sin.  
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack  
      From my first entrance in,  
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
      If I lacked anything.  
A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:  
     Love said, You shall be he.  
I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,  
      I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,  
      Who made the eyes but I?
Truth, Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame  
      Go where it doth deserve.  
And know you not, says Love, Who bore the blame?
      My dear, then I will serve. 
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
      So I did sit and eat.

 

Simone Weil wrote this of the poem:

In 1938 . . . I was suffering from splitting headaches; each sound hurt me like a blow. . . . I discovered the poem . . . called “Love” [by George Herbert] which I learnt by heart. Often, at the culminating point of a violent headache, I made myself say it over, concentrating all my attention upon it and clinging with all my soul to the tenderness it enshrines. I used to think I was merely reciting it it as a beautiful poem, but without my knowing it the recitation had the virtue of a prayer. It was during one of these recitations that Christ himself came down and took possession of me. In my arguments about the insolubility of the problem of God I had never foreseen the possibility of that, of a real contact, person to person, here below, between a human being and God.

From The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism, by Tim Keller

Peace

By George Herbert

Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell?  I humbly crave,
                                           Let me once know.
             I sought thee in a secret cave,
             And asked, if Peace were there.
A hollow wind did seem to answer, No:
                                           Go seek elsewhere.

I did; and going did a rainbow note:
                                           Surely, thought I,
             This is the lace of Peace’s coat:
             I will search out the matter.
But while I looked, the clouds immediately
                                           Did break and scatter.

Then went I to a garden, and did spy
                                           A gallant flower,
             The Crown Imperiall: Sure, said I,
             Peace at the root must dwell.
But when I digged, I saw a worm devour
                                           What showed so well.

At length I met a rev’rend good old man,
                                           Whom when of Peace
             I did demand, he thus began:
             There was a Prince of old
At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase
                                           Of flock and fold.

He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save
                                           His life from foes.
       But after death out of his grave
              There sprang twelve stalks of wheat:
Which many wond’ring at, got some of those
                                           To plant and set.

It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse
                                           Through all the earth:
        For they that taste it do rehearse,
             That virtue lies therein,
A secret virtue bringing peace and mirth
                                           By flight of sin.

Take of this grain, which in my garden grows,
                                           And grows for you;
        Make bread of it: and that repose
             And peace, which ev’rywhere
With so much earnestness you do pursue,
                                           Is only there.

Poem: Headlines

by Robert Phillips

War Dims Hope for Peace.
Plane Too Close to Ground, Crash Probe Told.
Clinton Wins Budget; More Lies Ahead.

Miners Refuse to Work after Death.
Include Your Children When Baking Cookies.
War Dims Hope for Peace.

Something Went Wrong in Jet Crash, Experts Say
Prostitutes Appeal to Pope.
Clinton Wins Budget; More Lies Ahead.

 

Read the rest at The Writer’s Almanac