No man in a dark night can behold himself in a mirror until a lamp is
lighted,--and not even then distinctly and perfectly until the dawn of
day: so no man can see himself in God's mirror until the beams of the
divine lamp [the Holy Spirit] illume his soul,--nor even then can he
see perfectly what a wretched and distorted being he is "until the day
break" and, being made like his Saviour, he contrasts what he is with
what he once was.
BEHOLD HOW HE LOVED US.
While on the cross the Saviour bleeds,
While friend nor foe his anguish heeds,
While many a taunt and bitter jeer
Break harshly on his holy ear,
He prays,--what can that last prayer be?
Oh, wondrous love, he prays for me!
Deep anguish fills his troubled soul,
The streams of blood in torrents roll;
And louder railings now are heard;
He breathes not one complaining word;
Yet, hark! he prays,--what can it be?
Oh, wondrous love, he _prays_ for me!
He bows his head, Immanuel dies;
Darkness o'erspreads the azure skies,
Loud thunders shake the earth and air,
And earthquakes heave in horror there;
Angels the act with wonder see;
Oh, matchless love, he _dies_ for me!
He leaves the dark and gloomy grave,
While angel-pinions round him wave,
And rising from the mountain's brow,
Appears before his Father now;
He pleads,--what can those pleadings be?
Oh, deathless love, he _pleads_ for me!
And can I then such scenes behold,
And still be careless, still be cold?
Can I, with air of sinful pride,
Cast such unbounded love aside?
My soul, oh, can it, _can it_ be?
Has Jesus died in vain for thee?
Oh, no! the crimson streams that glide
From Calvary's deeply blood-stained side,
Invite my soul, so stained with sin,
To wash away its guilt therein;
And in those precious drops I see
Christ has not died in vain for me!
The Saviour pleads, in thrilling tone,
Before his mighty Father's throne,
That for his sake my guilty name
Within the book of life may claim
A place.
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