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Posts Tagged ‘gospel’

From Greenland’s icy mountains,
From India’s coral strand;
Where Afric’s sunny fountains
Roll down their golden sand:
From many an ancient river,
From many a palmy plain,
They call us to deliver
Their land from error’s chain. 

What tho’ the spicy breezes
Blow soft o’er Ceylon’s isle;
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile?
In vain with lavish kindness
The gifts of God are strown;
The heathen in his blindness
Bows down to wood and stone.

Shall we, whose souls are lighted
With wisdom from on high,
Shall we to men benighted
The lamp of life deny?
Salvation! O Salvation!
Thy joyful sound proclaim,
Till earth’s remotest nation
Has learned Messiah’s name.

Waft, waft, ye winds, His story,
And you, ye waters, roll,
Till, like a sea of glory,
It spreads from pole to pole:
Till o’er our ransomed nature
The Lamb for sinners slain,
Redeemer, King, Creator,
In bliss returns to reign.

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Ruins at Philippi.

Ruins at Philippi. (Photo credit: Peter Nelson via Wikipedia)

          Nails And Bars

When Paul and Silas sang in jail
In ancient Philippi,
Felt sting of lashes freshly gi’en,
And blood was barely dry.

And still the joyful hearts did sing,
And all the pris’ners heard;
And jailer, passing by, took note,
Without a single word.

They sang in jails because the nails
That pierced the Son of God
Were greater than the lash or bars
And all else on earth’s sod.

When earthquake struck in Philippi,
The Christians did not flee.
One earlier at Calvary
Had set the sinners free.

Then jailer wond’ring at the turn
And like a pris’ner chained
To Roman law and earthly flesh,
Saw freedom and was pained

To know that he, beyond the bars,
Was bound as one can be
By broken law, by sin’s dark claw,
Something the eye can’t see.

What must I do, to be like you
To be soul saved, set free,
That I might sing instead of sob,
And not so hopeless be?

And so that night, they spoke good news,
The balm of Gilead,
The salve that saves the worst of men –
The jailed set free and glad.

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***Acts 16:16-34

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

 

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Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword.
His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps.
His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel:
“As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on.”

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat:
O, be swift, my soul, to answer him! be jubilant my feet!
Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me;
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.

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