Poetry About Jesus and Salvation 

Frances Havergal - Page 4

NOT YET

John 13:7

Not yet thou knowest what I do,

O feeble child of earth,

Whose life is but to angel view

The morning of thy birth!

The smallest leaf, the simplest flower,

The wild bee's honey-cell,

Have lessons of My love and power

Too hard for thee to spell.

Thou knowest not how I uphold

The little thou does scan;

And how much less canst thou unfold,

My universal plan,

Where all thy mind can grasp of space

Is but a grain of sand;--

The time thy boldest thought can trace,

One rippnt view,

Confusion's flag unfurled;'le on the strand!

Not yet thou knowest what I do

In this wild, warring world,

Whose prince doth still triumphant view,

Confusion's flag unfurled;

Nor how each proud and daring thought

Is subject to My will,

Each strong and secret purpose brought

My counsel to fulfil.

Not yet thou knowest how I bid

Each passing hour entwine.

Its grief or joy, its hope or fear,

In one great love-design;

Nor how I lead thee through the night,

By many a various way,

Still upward to unclouded light,

And onward to the day.

Not yet thou knowest what I do

Within thine own weak breast;

To mould thee to My image true,

And fit thee for My rest.

But yield thee to My loving skill

The veiled work of grace,

From day to day progressing still,

It is not thine to trace

Yes, walk by faith and not by sight,

Fast clinging to My hand;

Content to feel My love and might,

Not yet to understand,

A little while thy course pursue,

Till grace to glory grow;

Then what I am, and what I do,

Herafter thou shalt know.

I BRING MY SINS TO THEE

I bring my sins to Thee,

The sins I cannot count,

That all may cleansed be

In Thy once opened Fount;

I bring them Saviour, all to Thee;

The burden is too great for me.

I bring my griefs to Thee,

The grief I cannot tell;

No words shall needed be,

Thou knowest all so well;

I bring the sorrow laid on me,

O loving Saviour, all to Thee

My joys to Thee I bring

The joys Thy love has given,

That cause me here to sing

And make me think of heaven,

I bring them, Saviour, all to Thee,

Who has procured them all for me.

My life I bring to Thee,

I would not be my own;

O Saviour, let me be

Thine ever, Thine alone.

My heart, my life, my all I bring

To Thee, my Saviour and my King.

"THE THINGS WHICH ARE BEHIND'

Leave behind earth's empty pleasure,

Fleeting hope and changeful love;

Leave its soon-corroding treasure;

There are better things above.

Leave, oh, leave thy fond aspirings,

Bid thy restless heart be still;

Cease, oh cease, thy vain desirings,

Only seek thy Father's will.

Leave behind thy faithless sorrow,

And thine every anxious care;

He who only knows the morrow

Can for thee its burden bear.

Leave behind the doubting spirit,

And thy crushing load of sin;

By thy mighty Saviour's merit,

Life eternal thou shalt win.

Leave the darkness gathering o'er thee,

Leave the shadow-land behind;

Realms of glory lie before thee;

Enter in, and welcome find.

BE NOT WEARY

Yes! He knows the way is dreary,

Knows the weakness of our frame,

Knows that hand and heart are weary;

He, "In all points felt the same.

He is near to help and bless;

Be not weary, onward press.

Look to Him who once was willing

All His glory to resign,

That, for thee the law fulfilling,

All His merit might be thine.

Strive to follow day by day

Where His footsteps mark the way.

Look to Him, the Lord of Glory,

Tasting death to win thy life;

Gazing on 'that wondrous story,'

Canst thou falter in the strife?

Is it now new life to know

That the Lord hath loved thee so?

Look to Him who ever liveth,

Interceding for His own;

Seek, yea, claim the grace He giveth

Freely from His priestly throne.

Will He not thy strength renew

With His Spirit's quickening dew?

Look to Him, and faith shall brighten,

Hope shall soar, and love shall burn;

Peace once more thy heart shall lighten;

Rise! He calleth thee, return!

Be not weary on thy way

Jesus is thy strength and stay.

WHOSE I AM

Jesus, Master, whose I am

Purchased Thine alone to be,

By Thy blood, O spotless Lamb,

Shed so willingly for me;

Let my heart be all Thine own,

Let me live to Thee alone.

Other lords have long held sway;

Now, Thy name alone to bear,

Thy dear voice alone obey,

Is my daily, hourly prayer.

Whom have I in heaven but Thee?

Nothing else my joy can be.

Jesus, Master! I am Thine;

Keep me faithful, keep me near;

Let Thy presence in me shine

All my homeward way to cheer.

Jesus! at Thy feet I fall,

Oh, be Thou my All-in-all.

THE SEEING HEART

To "Fanny Crosby"

May 10, 1872

Sweet, blind singer over the sea,

Tuneful and jubilant; how can it be,

That the songs of gladness, which float so far,

As if they fell from the evening star,

Are the notes of one who may never see

"Visible music" of flower and tree,

Purple of mountain, or glitter of snow,

Ruby and gold of the sunset glow,

And never the light of a loving face

Must not the world be a desolate place

For eyes that are sealed with the seal of years,

Eyes that are open only for tears?

How can she sing in the dark like this?

What is her fountain of light and bliss?

Oh, her heart can see, her heart can see!

And its sight is strong and swift and free.

Never the ken of mortal eye

Could pierce so deep and far and high

As the eagle-vision of hearts that dwell

In the lifty, sunlit citadel

Of Faith, that overcomes the world,

With banners of Hope and Joy unfurled,

Garrisoned with God's perfect Peace,

Ringing with peans that never cease,

Flooded with splendor bright and broad,

The glorious light of the Love of God.

Her heart can see, her heart can see!

Well may she sing so joyously!

For the King Himself, in His tender grace,

Hath shown her the brightness of His face;

And who shall pine for a glow-worm light

Where the Sun goes forth in His radiant might.

She can read His law, as a shining chart,

For His finger hath written it on her heart;

She can read His love, for on all her way

His hard is writing it every day.

"Bright cloud," indeed, must that darkness be,

Where "Jesus only" the heart can see.

Her heart can see, her heart can see!

Beyond the glooms and the mystery,

Glimpses of glory not far away,

Nearing and brightening day by day;

Golden crystal, and emerald bow,

Lustre of pearl, and sapphire glow,

Sparkling river, and healing tree,

Evergreen palms of victory,

Harp and crown and raiment white,

Holy and beautiful dwellers in light;

A Throne, and ONE thereon, whose Face

Is the glory of that glorious place.

DEAR, blind sister over the sea!

An English heart goes forth to thee.

We are linked by a cable of faith and song,

Flashing bright sympathy swift along;

One in the East and one in the West,

Singing for Him whom our souls love best,

"Singing for Jesus," telling His love

All the way to our home above,

Where the severing sea, with its restless tide,

Never shall hinder, and never divide.

Sister, what will our meeting be,

Where our hearts shall sing and our eyes shall see!

*Many sweet hymns by Fanny Crosby have become known and are warmly appreciated in England and Scotland. In answer to the inquiry, "Who is Fanny Crosby?" the following beautiful replay was received: "She is a blind lady, whose heart can see splendidly in the sunshine of God's love." Hence the above greeting to a far-off fellow minister of the song." -F.R.H.

NO THORN WITHOUT A ROSE

"There isno rose without a thorn!"

Who has not found this true,

And known that griefs of gladness born

Our footsteps still pursue!

That in the grandest harmony

The strangest discords rise;

The brightest bow we only trace

Upon the darkest skies!

No thornless rose! So, more and more;

Our pleasant hopes are laid

Where waves this sable legend o'er

A still sepulchral shade.

But Faith and Love, with angel-might,

Break up life's dismal tomb,

Transmuting into golden light

The words of leaden gloom.

Reversing all this funeral pall,

White raiment they disclose;

Their happy song floats full and long

"No thorn without a rose!"

"No shadow, but its sister light

Not far away must burn!

No weary might, but morning bright

Shall follow in its turn.

"No chilly snow, but safe below

A million buds are sleeping;

No wintry days, but fair spring rays

Are swiftly onward sweeping.

"With fiercest glare of summer air

Comes fullest leafy shade;

And ruddy fruit bends every shoot,

Because the blossoms fade.

"No note of sorrow but shall melt

In sweetest chord unguessed,

No labor all too pressing felt,

But ends in quiet rest.

"No sigh but from the harps above

Soft echoing tones shall win,

No heart-wound but the Lord

shall pur His comfort in.

"No withered hope, while loving best

Thy Father's chosen way;

No anxious care, for He will bear

Thy burdens every day.

"Thy claim to rest on Jesus' breast

All weariness shall be;

And pain thy portal to His heart

Of boundless sympathy.

"No conflict, but the King's own hand

Shall end the glorious strife;

No death, but leads thee to the land

Of everylasting life."

Sweet seraph voices, Faith and Love!

Sing on within our hearts

This strain of music from above,

Till we have learnt our parts;

Until we see your alchemy

On all that years disclose,

And, taught by you, still find it true,

"No thorn without a rose."

Poetry by Frances Havergal - Page 1

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