Walter Chalmers Smith
Immortal, invisible, God only wise,
In light inaccessible hid from our eyes,
Most blessèd, most glorious, the Ancient of Days,
Almighty, victorious, Thy great Name we praise.
Unresting, unhasting, and silent as light,
Nor wanting, nor wasting, Thou rulest in might;
Thy justice, like mountains, high soaring above
Thy clouds, which are fountains of goodness and love.
To all, life Thou givest, to both great and small;
In all life Thou livest, the true life of all;
We blossom and flourish as leaves on the tree,
And wither and perish—but naught changeth Thee.
Great Father of glory, pure Father of light,
Thine angels adore Thee, all veiling their sight;
But of all Thy rich graces this grace, Lord, impart
Take the veil from our faces, the vile from our heart.
All laud we would render; O help us to see
’Tis only the splendor of light hideth Thee,
And so let Thy glory, almighty, impart,
Through Christ in His story, Thy Christ to the heart.
I love the classic hymns like this one. You can find more here at THE CYBER HYMNAL
5 comments:
That's one of my favorite hymns ever--we sang that not to long ago one Sunday...
While there are more recent songs that have value, "they just don't write 'em like that anymore"
It one of my favorite to. My favorite is Isaac Watts "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross" i know that dont write them like this anymore. I was going to talk about that in a future post.
"When I Survey the Wondrous Cross" is also one of my favorites--it has more depth than many seromons, books, and radio/TV programs.
I remeber being over at the home of some firends --who are laso Christians. At one point we were soinging aorund the fireopit when someone requested- "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross". A woman I'd never met before was confused as to why we would sing an Easter song in the summer.
I didn't know what to say.
Yeah it so deep in theology that I don’t think you can confine it to just Easter in one of the songs that you can sing all year long
Isaac Watts
When I survey the wondrous Cross Where the young Prince of Glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast Save in the death of Christ, my God; All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to his blood. See from his head, his hands, his feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down; Did e'er such love and sorrow meet? Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
His dying crimson like a robe Spreads o'er his body on the Tree, Then am I dead to all the globe, And all the globe is dead to me. Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small; Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all.
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