O Jesus, Thou art standing
Outside the fast-closed door,
In lowly patience waiting
To Pass the threshold o’er:
Shame on us, Christian brothers,
His Name and sign who bear,
O shame, thrice shame upon us,&
To keep Him standing there!
O Jesus, thou art knocking;
And lo, that hand is scarred,
And thorns Thy brow encircle,
And tears Thy face have marred:
O love that passeth knowledge,
So patiently to wait!
O sin that hath no equal,
So fast to bar the gate!
O Jesus, Thou art pleading
In accents meek and low,
“I died for you, My children,
And will ye treat money so?
O Lord, with shame and sorrow
We open now the door;
Dear Savior, enter, enter,
And leave us nevermore.
~ W. Walsham How, 1867
This song sounds like it is taken from or inspired by Revelation 3:20 where Jesus said, “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.” That verse is used often to invite the lost to “open the door” to Christ, and though I think it’s fine to use it that way, in context it is written to Christians, specifically lukewarm ones who think they have need of nothing. It’s all to easy to crowd Him out. May we ever keep the door open.
28 Hast thou not known? hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the LORD, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary? there is no searching of his understanding.
29 He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.
30 Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall:
31 But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.
(All photos except the last two are from the morguefile.)
This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.
This is my Father’s world, the birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world: He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.
This is my Father’s world. O let me ne’er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world: the battle is not done:
Jesus Who died shall be satisfied,
And earth and Heav’n be one.
O Jesus, I have promised to serve Thee to the end;
Be Thou forever near me, my Master and my Friend;
I shall not fear the battle if Thou art by my side,
Nor wander from the pathway if Thou wilt be my Guide.
O let me feel Thee near me! The world is ever near;
I see the sights that dazzle, the tempting sounds I hear;
My foes are ever near me, around me and within;
But Jesus, draw Thou nearer, and shield my soul from sin.
O let me hear Thee speaking in accents clear and still,
Above the storms of passion, the murmurs of self will.
O speak to reassure me, to hasten or control;
O speak, and make me listen, Thou Guardian of my soul.
O Jesus, Thou hast promised to all who follow Thee
That where Thou art in glory there shall Thy servant be.
And Jesus, I have promised to serve Thee to the end;
O give me grace to follow, my Master and my Friend.
O let me see Thy footprints, and in them plant mine own;
My hope to follow duly is in Thy strength alone.
O guide me, call me, draw me, uphold me to the end;
And then in Heaven receive me, my Savior and my Friend.
This hymn is one of the earliest I remember learning as a child.
My faith looks up to Thee,
Thou Lamb of Calvary, Savior divine!
Now hear me while I pray, take all my guilt away,
O let me from this day be wholly Thine!
May Thy rich grace impart
Strength to my fainting heart, my zeal inspire!
As Thou hast died for me, O may my love to Thee,
Pure warm, and changeless be, a living fire!
While life’s dark maze I tread,
And griefs around me spread, be Thou my Guide;
Bid darkness turn to day, wipe sorrow’s tears away,
Nor let me ever stray from Thee aside.
When ends life’s transient dream,
When death’s cold sullen stream over me roll;
Blest Savior, then in love, fear and distrust remove;
O bear me safe above, a ransomed soul!
Look, ye saints! the sight is glorious:
See the Man of Sorrows now;
From the fight returned victorious,
Every knee to Him shall bow;
Crown Him, crown Him,
Crown Him, crown Him,
Crowns become the Victor’s brow,
Crowns become the Victor’s brow.
Crown the Savior! angels, crown Him;
Rich the trophies Jesus brings;
In the seat of power enthrone Him,
While the vault of heaven rings;
Crown Him, crown Him,
Crown Him, crown Him,
Crown the Savior King of kings,
Crown the Savior King of kings.
Sinners in derision scorned Him,
Mocking thus the Savior’s claim;
Saints and angels crowd around Him,
Own His title, praise His name;
Crown Him, crown Him,
Crown Him, crown Him,
Spread abroad the Victor’s fame,
Spread abroad the Victor’s fame.
Hark, those bursts of acclamation!
Hark, those loud triumphant chords!
Jesus takes the highest station;
O what joy the sight affords!
Crown Him, crown Him,
Crown Him, crown Him,
King of kings and Lord of lords!
King of kings and Lord of lords!
~ Thomas Kelly, 1809
I’ve only sung this congregationally maybe three times and heard it sung once or twice. I don’t know why we don’t sing or hear it more often. It’s a great old hymn. The thought of Christ finally taking His rightful place make me want to cheer!
We found out early this morning that one of the dear saints at our church passed away. She was a good friend, one of the first people here to invite us over. She had myriad physical problems but never had a self-pitying attitude. She volunteered long past the age that people retire to their rocking chairs.
There are always such strange mixed feelings when a believer dies. There is joy that she is without pain any more and in the Lord’s presence. Yet there is the feeling of loss, the missing of her presence, the renewal of loss each time you think about calling her only to remember she is gone.
It’s funny how the Bible says life here is but a vapor, yet we’re so surprised when it actually does end. She had been seriously ill so many times and bounced back, we just kept expecting that to be the pattern even though she was growing feebler.
Not long after hearing the news, the hymn “Jerusalem the Golden” came to mind, one of my favorites. The Bible doesn’t tell us very much about heaven. Elisabeth Elliot says that’s because, if we knew how wonderful it was, we would never get anything done here for thinking about it.
Jerusalem the golden,
with milk and honey blest,
beneath thy contemplation
sink heart and voice oppressed:
I know not, oh, I know not,
what joys await us there;
what radiancy of glory,
what bliss beyond compare!
They stand, those halls of Zion,
all jubilant with song,
and bright with many an angel,
and all the martyr throng:
the Prince is ever in them,
the daylight is serene;
the pastures of the blessèd
are decked in glorious sheen.
There is the throne of David;
and there, from care released,
the shout of them that triumph,
the song of them that feast;
and they who with their Leader
have conquered in the fight,
for ever and for ever
are clad in robes of white.
Oh, sweet and blessèd country,
the home of God’s elect!
Oh, sweet and blessèd country,
that eager hearts expect!
Jesus, in mercy bring us
to that dear land of rest,
who art, with God the Father,
and the Spirit, ever blest.
By Bernard of Cluny, 1145; translated by John Mason Neale, 1851, 1859
I have on a CD somewhere a beautiful men’s choral version of it that I was hoping to find online, but couldn’t. I found this version with the organ — not my favorite instrument, generally, but this is nice. And then I found this — I don’t know these folks and the words are a little hard to hear, but at least you can get an idea what this lovely hymn sounds like.
Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. John 11:25.
Do you know the proper response to that greeting? “And the rest of the day to yourself.”
Though I think we have some degree of Irish blood in our veins, when I was growing up, we didn’t really celebrate or observe St. Patrick’s Day, except with the getting pinched if you didn’t wear green at school. which Sally tells us is an American invention. I don’t know why I never wondered why we did that. I don’t remember if we had corned beef and cabbage on that day — probably not, as it was one of my father’s favorite meals, we usually had it his birthday in late February. In my Christian college some staunchly wore orange rather than green to show their siding with Protestantism rather than Catholicism, though technically Baptists aren’t under the Protestant umbrella. But I like that the day seems to have become a celebration of all things Irish. Who doesn’t love the Irish? This poem I saw at Sally‘s says it well:
What Shall I Say About the Irish?
The utterly impractical, never predictable,
Sometimes irascible, quite inexplicable, Irish.
Strange blend of shyness,
pride and conceit,
And stubborn refusal to bow in defeat.
He’s spoiling and ready to argue and fight,
Yet the smile of a child
fills his soul with delight.
His eyes are the quickest to well up with tears,
Yet his strength is the strongest
to banish your fears.
His hate is as fierce as his devotion is grand,
And there is no middle ground
on which he will stand.
He’s wild and he’s gentle,
he’s good and he’s bad.
He’s proud and he’s humble,
he’s happy and sad.
He’s in love with the ocean,
the earth and the skies,
He’s enamoured with beauty wherever it lies.
He’s victor and victim, a star and a clod,
But mostly he’s Irish—
in love with his God.
One of my favorite missionaries, Amy Carmichael, is of Irish descent, and Irish folk songs are some of my favorite music.
Here are some St. Patrick’s Day links you might enjoy:
Updated to add this one: I saw on David McGuire‘s Facebook page this morning the statement, “It’s St. Patrick’s Day, but his inspirational life story is so much more than chasing snakes out of Ireland!” I asked if he has any good links about Patrick’s life, and he graciously sent me these:
I don’t remember who alerted me to One Pretty Thing, but I enjoy the compilations of projects and posts based on holidays or themes. She has several St. Patrick’s Day projects for kids here and here, and general St. Patrick’s Day projects here.
And Tipnut.com has a list of Irish-related links as well, including a live webcam to watch for leprechauns.
And I can’t have an Irish post without linking to my all-time favorite Irishmen, the Irish Tenors. Here they sing, “Isle of Hope, Isle of Tears.” about the first Irish immigrant to come through Ellis Island, 15 year old Annie Moore.
In her little bag she carried
All her past and history,
And her dreams for the future
In the land of liberty.
And courage is the passport
When your old world disappears
But there’s no future in the past
When you’re fifteen years
And probably the best known Irish hymn is “Be Thou My Vision.”
Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.
Thou my best Thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.
Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.
Be Thou my battle Shield, Sword for the fight;
Be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight;
Thou my soul’s Shelter, Thou my high Tower:
Raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.
Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise,
Thou mine Inheritance, now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,
High King of Heaven, my Treasure Thou art.
High King of Heaven, my victory won,
May I reach Heaven’s joys, O bright Heaven’s Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.
Stray Thoughts 