Lord, You are so incredibly faithful,
To this lamb so wayward and lost, poor and needy.
Yet You rescued and lifted up my weary soul,
My true Shepherd, wrapped around with majesty.
Your ear is finely tuned to my cries—
Your eyes see all my woes and travail;
Your whispers inspire new songs in the night,
Like the North Star shining amidst the strong gale.
With tender compassion and mercies ever dawning,
You guide over rocky terrain through unknown paths,
Providing renewed courage and grace every morning,
Kindly leading me back with Your forgiving hands.
chorus-
At last, I will see the eyes that ever watched over me—
I will clasp those scarred hands that never let me go.
I will behold the face that angels worship in divine glory,
At last, at last, I will know as I am fully known.
Not even knowing how to pray oftentimes,
Going on with living, but not fully alive—
Yet You choose to dwell within, to reside and dine,
Binding up my broken heart with Your promise to abide.
For ages upon ages all Heaven will be adoring,
The Lamb that was slain for the sins of all mankind.
Worthy, oh so worthy are You to receive all blessing,
To be praised with song and forever magnified.
C.A. TAYLOR
My True Shepherd
Stay here and watch.”
He went a little farther, and fell on the ground, and prayed that if it were possible, the hour might pass from Him. And He said, “Abba, Father, all things are possible for You. Take this cup away from Me; nevertheless, not what I will, but what You will.”
Mark 14:34-36
Do not chide yourself for feeling strongly. Tears are natural. Jesus wept. A thunderstorm without rain is fraught with peril; the pattering raindrops cool the air, and relieve the overcharged atmosphere. The swollen brooks indicate that the snows are melting on the hills and spring is near. “Daughters of Jerusalem,” said our Lord, “weep for yourselves and your children.” To bear sorrow with dry eyes and stolid heart may befit a Stoic but not a Christian. We have no need to rebuke fond nature crying for its mate, its lost joy, the touch of the vanished hand, the sound of the voice that is still, provided only that the will is resigned. This is the one consideration for those who suffer¾Is the will right? If it isn’t, God Himself cannot comfort. If it is, then the path will inevitably lead from the valley of the shadow of death to the banqueting table and the overflowing cup.
Many say I cannot feel resigned. It is bad enough to have my grief to bear, but I have this added trouble, that I cannot feelresigned. My invariable reply is: you probably never can feel resignation, but you can willit. The Lord Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, has shown us how to suffer. He chose His Father's will. He said repeatedly, “If this cup may not pass from Me except I drink it, Thy will be done.” He gave up His own way and will, saying “I will Thy will O My Father; Thy will, and not Mine, be done.”
Let all sufferers who read these lines go apart and dare to say the same words: “Thy will, and not mine; Thy will be done in the earth of my life, as in the heaven of Thy purpose; I choose Thy will.” Say this thoughtfully and deliberately, not because you can feel it, but because you will it; not because the way of the cross is pleasant, but because it must be right. Say it repeatedly, whenever the surge of pain sweeps through you, whenever the wound begins to bleed afresh: Not my will but Thine be done. Dare to say Yes to God. “Even so Father, for so it seemeth good in Thy sight.”
And so you will be led to feel that all is right and well; and a great calm will settle down on your heart, a peace that passeth understanding, a sense of rest which is not inconsistent with suffering, but walks in the midst of it as the three young men in the fiery furnace, to whom the burning coals must have been like the dewy grass of a forest glade.
Sorrow is a garden, the trees of which are laden with the peaceable fruits of righteousness; do not leave it without bringing them with you. Sorrow is a mine, the walls of which glisten with precious stones; be sure and do not retrace your steps into daylight without some specimens. Johann Rist used to say, “The dear cross has pressed many songs out of me.” And it is probable that none rightly suffer anywhere without contributing something to the alleviation of human grief, to the triumph of good over evil, of love over hate, and light over darkness.
The way of the cross rightly borne, is the only way to the everlasting light. The path that treads the Garden of Gethsemane, and climbs over the hill of Calvary, alone conducts to the visions of Easter morning and the glories of the Ascension mount. If we will not drink of His cup, or be baptized with His baptism, we cannot expect to share in of His espousals and the ecstasy of His triumph. But if these conditions are fulfilled, we shall not miss one note in the everlasting song, one element in the bliss that is possible to men
If you believed this, could you not bear to suffer? Is not the chief misery of all suffering its loneliness, and perhaps its apparent aimlessness? Then dare to believe that no man dies to himself. Fall into the ground, bravely and cheerfully to die; if you yield to it, you will bear fruit which will sweeten the lot and strengthen the life of others who will never know your name, or stop to thank you for your help.
F.B. MEYER
Steps Into the Blessed Life
