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APPLES OF GOLD IN PICTURES OF SILUER.
“ A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures (or baskets) of silver.”—Prov. xxv. 11.
IVE me fit words, O Jesu
To tell the old, old tale,
To some it seemeth stale :
To this so hoar and old,
To this pure virgin gold.
A word that's fitly spoken
May catch a careless ear;
In accents low and clear,
And melt a stony heart,
May make the tear-drops start.
Thou spakest as none other
Ere spake or preached before;
Thy Holy Spirit pour :
The old, old tale to tell
They ring like silver bell;
And speak of Calvary's mercy,
And Sinai's sin and wrath,
To Lazarus, “ Come forth !”
Those who are dead in sin
And life eternal win.
Thus, touch my tongue, O Jesu !
With Thy all-saving fire,
Tune Thon my feeble lyre;
Glow apples all of gold,
In fitting words be told.
CIE WTYKARING QAn.
"..... It is ihe voice of my Beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to Me, My sister, My love, My dove, My undefiled : for My head is filled with dew, and My locks with the drops of the night." . . . . . SONG OF SOL. v. 2.
“O the Hope of Israel, the Saviour thereof in time of trouble, why shouldest Thou be as a stranger in the land, and as a wayfaring man that turneth aside to tarry for a night ? ” . . . . . . . . . . JER. XIV. 8.
“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." . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rev. III. 20.
THE WAYFARING MAN.
Open the door, beloved;
My head with dew is filled, My locks with droppings of the night
For thee My blood was spilled. For many a year I've waited,
And longed to enter in; And still I stand, belated,
While thou liv'st on in sin.
And thou art all anheeding,
And hast no smile to greet, And carest not that bleeding
Are My tender, toil-worn feet; For the way is long and dreary,
And My head and limbs are aching, And I'm waiting sad and weary,
And My loving heart is breaking.
Thy mirth and midnight revels,
And thy loud, unseemly shout, Make glad the heart of devils
While thy Lover stands without!
Wilt thou never, love, relent?
Wilt thou never, love, repent ?
Oh! by the years I've waited
Oh! by the tears I've shedOh! by the wrath o'erwhelming
Poured on My stricken head : Oh! by My cross and passion
My wrestlings with sinBelov'd one, have compassion,
And let the Traveller in !
-[0, man by time grey-headed,
Or in the prime of life, Bereaved or newly wedded,
Son, daughter, husband, wife, Or little one of tender years,
Thy life stretched out beforeCHRIST IS THE WEARY WAYFARER,
THY HEART THE CLOSE-BARRED DOOR!]
Thou canst not ope that door, love,
BUT ON THY BENDED KNEES :
The present moment seize : .
The door flies open wide,
And clasp His purchased bride.
KUN, SPEAK TO THIS YOURG NAR.
“And, behold, the angel that talked with me went forth, and another angel went out to meet him, and said unto him, Run, speak to this young man.” . . . . . . . . . . ; . . . . Zech. ii. 3, 4.
umumn Immunione UN, speak to this young man who careless standeth
Upon the threshold of life's open door,
“Pause, and tread solemnly that hallowed floor :
Before thee, though thou viewest but the portals,
There is the antrod vestibule of TIME;
Exist in torment, or in glory shine.
That temple is ETERNITY-unbounded-
That shadeless brilliance or that dawnless night!”
Run, speak to this young man in tones of thunder
Of an offended God and broken Law :
The icy fetters may begin to thaw.
And speak to this young man in tones appealing,
His conscience, though long dormant, is not dead;
Although to wild and vicious courses wed.
But speak thou not the less with words of kindness,
He thinks himself than thee more right and wise ;
And clear the mist from his dim-sighted eyes.
He stands in pride of early manhood's vigour
With active brain and hand, and fearless heart,
He choose through life the nobler, better part:
The nobler, better part of life for Jesus,
For Him whose life was spent in doing good,
Was put to death upon a cross of wood.
That in the quiet of his chamber bending,
That young man consecrate himself to God;
In love and meekness tread where Jesus trod.
See Note L, page 93.
BEKOLD, I HATE PLAYED THE FOOL.
“..... I will no more do thee harm, because my soul was precious in thine eyes this day: behold, I have played the fool, and have erred exceedingly.”
. . . . . . . 1 Sam. xxvi. 21.
vosadioero HEN play the fool no longer! cease thy folly,
8 Wake from thy madness ere it be too late ;
And having anxiously with solemn musing,
Mourned deeply o'er thy past career of sin;
To ope thine heart and let the Saviour in.
So long with love unwearied He has waited,
The time may come when He will wait no more;
Haste thee and open wide the close-barr'd door.
If thou hast played the fool, hast thou reflected
How many with thyself have done the same-
They sinful, but thyself the most to blame:
Thou the foul tempter of the man or maiden,
Allured by thee to their destruction dire,
And kindled in their breasts infernal fire.
Their sins go on while time shall last unending
Through all the generations yet to come,
Making together one most awful sum.
Thy years of youth are past or now are speeding :
The prime of life has come or is at hand !
While through life's hourglass slips the golden sand ?
O, play the fool no longer: cease to trifle;
Thy time for reformation may be brief;
Or through eternity may last thy grief.
RIGHT THROUGH ETERNITY—thy soul's damnation !
No time for penitence beyond the grave,!
Cry anto Christ—the Mighty One to save!