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The Everlasting Arms

Author: J. J. Winkler, d. 1722 Hymnal: HTS2 #111 (1899) First Line: Wearily my spirit sinketh Lyrics: Wearily my spirit sinketh Into Jesu’s Heart and Hands, Calmly trusting, though the journey Lie through strange untrodden lands. All my spirit is at rest On the loving Father’s breast. There my spirit cannot murmur, Pleased with all that may betide— What the will of Self would cherish Is already crucified— Buried is each murmuring word In the grave of Christ my Lord. There my spirit cannot question, Little doth she think or say; All the thorns of life around her Cannot take her peace away— He who made me guideth best, And my heart is left at rest. There my spirit knows no darkness, Love remains when all is gone— Sorrows crushing soul and body Do the heathens know alone— Resting in Christ’s blessed light, Fears she not the earthly night. There my spirit is not careful, For she knoweth of no ill; Hanging still upon her Father, Though He slay her, trusting still; How shall flesh and blood repine Where the chastening is divine? Thus on God my spirit waiteth, Even so doth overcome; Silently enduring all things, Mockery and martyrdom; Like a still sea doth she lie, Full of praise to God most high. Languages: English

Things to Come

Author: Spitta Hymnal: HTS2 #113 (1899) First Line: Oh what will be the day when won at last Lyrics: Oh what will be the day when won at last The last long weary battle, we shall come To those eternal gates the King hath passed, Returning from our exile to our Home; When earth’s last dust is washed from off our feet; The last sweat from our brows is wiped away; The hopes that made our pilgrim journey sweet All met around us, realised that day! Oh what will be the day, when we shall stand Irradiate with God’s eternal light; First tread as sinless saints the sinless land, No shade nor stain upon our garments white; No fear, no shame upon our faces then, No mark of sin—oh joy beyond all thought! A son of God, a free-born citizen Of that bright city where the curse is not! Oh what will be the day when with our prayer Eternal singing shall be woven in— Deep sound of golden harps far echoing there To praise the Lamb who took away our sin; When far and wide the radiant streets resound With Hallelujah songs the ransomed sing, And clouds of sweetest incense rise around The Throne where sits in light the Saviour King! Oh what will be the day when we shall see The Love that opened Heaven to ransomed men! Love draws us and we follow—we are free— Nought severs us from our Belovèd then: That veil of faith through which we looked of old Has passed away as mist before the sun; Christ throned in glory do our eyes behold, O’er worlds, through ages, reigning ever on. Oh what will be the day when we shall hear “Come, oh ye blessed!” when we take our place Before His throne in radiance sweet and clear, Behold His glorious, His belovèd Face— Behold the Eyes whence bitter tears have flowed For all our grief, our hardness, and our sin— Behold the wounds whence streamed the precious Blood, Which ransomed us, and washed us pure and clean! Oh what will be the day when hand in hand, Saints wander through the pastures green and fair, The trees of life upon the golden strand As fresh as on the third day morn are there; There all is new, and never shall be old, For time is not, nor age, nor slow decay; No dying eyes, no hearts grown strange and cold, All pain, all death, all sighing fled away! Oh what will be the day when every thought Of that dark valley we have left below, And all remembrance of the fight we fought, Our pilgrim journey, long and sad, and slow, Shall only make the Glory brighter far, Shall make the peace but deeper, sweeter yet? O’er that dark sea was Christ our Guiding Star, Our love were fainter love could we forget. Oh what will be that day? no eye can see, No ear can hear, no heart has yet conceived, What God shall give us, and what we shall be When we inherit what we have believed. O Land of Promise! rough may be the road, And long the race may be—but sweet the end; The dead with Christ, the risen sons of God, With Him we journey, and with Him ascend. Languages: English

A New Song

Author: R. Rolle, d. 1349 Hymnal: HTS2 #117 (1899) First Line: I know not the song of Thy praises Lyrics: I know not the song of Thy praises, Till Thou teach it, my God, to me— Till I hear the still voice of Thy Spirit, Who speaketh for ever of Thee— Till I hear the celestial singing, And learn the new song of Thy grace, And then shall I tell forth the marvels I learnt in Thy secret place. Thy marvels, not mine, far surpassing All thoughts of my heart must they be— I can but declare the glad tidings, As Thou hast declared them to me. Languages: English

The Courts of God

Author: R. Rolle, d. 1399 Hymnal: HTS2 #118 (1899) First Line: O Lord, I have loved the fair beauty Lyrics: O Lord, I have loved the fair beauty Of the house Thou hast chosen for Thee, The courts where Thy gladness rejoiceth, And where Thou delightest to be. For I love to be made the fair dwelling Where God in His grace may abide; I would cast forth whatever may grieve Thee, And welcome none other beside. Oh blessed the grace that has made me The home of the gladness of God, The dwelling wherein Thou delightest, The house Thou hast bought with Thy blood. ’Tis there that Thy joy overfloweth, I feel it, I take of it there; By the work that Thou workest within me, The temple is holy and fair. In the secret of that inner chamber, Is Thy settle of heavenly rest; The stillness of thoughts that adore Thee, The shrine that Thou lovest the best. The temple where Christ hath His dwelling, The soul He hath ransomed and shriven— The temple where I have my dwelling, Is Christ in the glory of Heaven. Languages: English

A Song of the Temple

Author: R. Rolle, d. 1349 Hymnal: HTS2 #119 (1899) First Line: In Thy tabernacle, Lord, I offer Lyrics: In Thy tabernacle, Lord, I offer Sacrifice of psalmody and song— Thine uncounted mercies there recalling, Praising Thee with music sweet and strong. With a marvellous, a mighty gladness, For the love of Christ is shed abroad In the soul that is His holy temple, And she singeth therefore unto God. She ascends aloft to join the singing, Heard afar from God’s Jerusalem— Blessed music of the saints she heareth, And adoring singeth she with them. None can know though skilled in learning ancient, What the sweetness of that song may be; Till he know the glory and the gladness, There the blessed Face of God to see. Lord, to Thee my heart is ever yearning, In this absence seeking still Thy Face; Blessed hour when I shall find!—adoring In the glory of Thy holy place! Scripture: Nehemiah 12:43 Languages: English

Preface

Hymnal: HTS2 #123 (1899) First Line: Everywhere, everywhere Lyrics: Everywhere, everywhere, A tale is told to me— It is told in the sunny air, It is told on the sparkling sea; It is told in the forest brakes, It is told on the purple hills, By the silent mountain lakes, By the singing and leaping rills. In the ancient gardens grand, With their old-world flowers aglow, Where the stately cedars stand, And the sweet limes all a-row. In the meadows that stretch away As a sea of golden green, With hedges of sweet white may And the reedy brooks between. Where I wander, and run, and rest, The tale is told to me, The sweetest tale and the best Of all the tales that be. * * * * The tale is the tale of Jesus— It is told in Heaven above, On the sea and the moors and the mountains, In language of all the peoples, The speech of love. The morning star and the dayspring, The sun and the cloud and the shower, The grass and the rose and the cedar, His glory and love are telling From hour to hour. The birds in the greenwood singing, The sea that is deep and wide, The sheep in the folds of the mountains, The corn in the golden valleys, And all beside. All round me the glorious pictures Of Him who has made them fair; Through the long bright day I can see Him, And I fear not the silent darkness, For He is there. Languages: English

All that is White

Hymnal: HTS2 #125 (1899) First Line: Come forth in the fields and the gardens Lyrics: Come forth in the fields and the gardens; There let us seek and find All that will tell us of Jesus, And bring His love to mind. All white on the thymy hillside Lambs by their mothers play; All white stand the stately lilies In the garden borders gay. All white in the sunny heavens The piled-up clouds sail slow— They were crimson when rose the morning, Now whiter are they than snow, All white on the lonely mountains The snow where no foot has trod— All white is the foam on the fountains That flow from the hills of God. Oh tell me what yet is whiter Than the lambs and the lilies white, Than the clouds piled up in the noontide, Like a mountain land of light? Than the snow on the ancient mountains, Where only the angels go? Than the foam where the wild bright fountains Dance down to the glens below? Child, hast thou trusted Jesus? Canst thou believe and say, “He loved me, He died to save me, He has borne my sins away; For my sins were laid upon Jesus; In my stead, for my guilt, He died”? Then child, fall down and adore Him, Thou art whiter than all beside. A lamb washed white for ever In the Lamb’s most precious blood— A lily by God’s still river, That lies in the light of God. The clouds through the sunny heavens As an army walk in white, On to the gates of glory, To the glow of the western light; So in the snow-white raiment That Christ for His child has won, Thou shalt pass the golden gateway, And tell that His work is done. Languages: English

The Door

Hymnal: HTS2 #127 (1899) First Line: All within are love and gladness Lyrics: All within are love and gladness, Light and warmth and cheer; All without the night wind wailing O’er the lonely mere. There within the child belovèd— There the welcome sweet; There without the wandering orphan And the weary feet. Wandering child! the Door is open— That fair palace-door; There thy Father’s kiss awaits thee, Fatherless no more. One fair golden Door—one only, Jesus Who has died; Jesus is that blessed Doorway Open free and wide. Child, no need to knock, to ask Him If thou mayest come; Lo! He stands in love beseeching, Saying, “Child! come home.” Saying, “Child, the night is dreary On the mountains lone; Pass within thy Father’s palace, Heaven is all thine own. “Thou hast sinned, and I have suffered Curse and death for thee; Now as I to Him am precious, Thou art dear to Me.” Languages: English

The Morning Star

Hymnal: HTS2 #128 (1899) First Line: I woke, and the night was passing Lyrics: I woke, and the night was passing, And over the hills there shone A star all alone in its beauty When the other stars were gone— For a glory was filling the heavens That came before the day, And the gloom and the stars together Faded and passed away. Only the star of the morning Glowed in the crimson sky— It was like a clear voice singing, “Rejoice! for the Sun is nigh!” O children! a Star is shining Into the hearts of men— It is Christ with a voice of singing, “Rejoice! for I come again! “For the long, long night is passing, And there cometh the golden day; I come to My own who love Me, To take them all away. “It may be to-day or to-morrow, Soon it will surely be; Then past are the tears and the sorrow— Then Home for ever with Me.” Languages: English

Who Provideth for the Raven His Food?

Hymnal: HTS2 #130 (1899) First Line: All the world lay still and silent in the morning grey Lyrics: All the world lay still and silent in the morning grey, And at once a thousand voices hail the glorious day; For the great Sun glowing crimson rises o’er the sea— “Welcome, Day!” they sing together, “Day that is to be!” Oh how glad and sweet and joyous is that morning hymn! Whilst the golden day is stealing through the valleys dim— Thrush and blackbird, lark and linnet, doves that coo and hum Wild delight, and soft rejoicing, for the day is come. Not a thought of care or wonder what the day will bring. For the Father careth for them in the smallest thing. There upon the pathless mountains is their table spread, All by God are known and numbered, by His Hands are fed. Some in deep and tangled forests where the berries glow, Some where children’s crumbs are scattered on the garden snow, Some where through the river sedges mayflies glance and play, Some where mountain tarns lie gleaming in the hollows grey. For the wild and hungry eagle, for the wren so small, All is ready—food and gladness, free to each and all. Languages: English