The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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November 28
WEIGHED |
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 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
379
November 28 WEIGHED
“A just weight and balance are the Lord's: a just weigher of
spirits is the Lord.”—Prov. xvi. 11.
Not with Thy scales and measures, Lord,
Weigh this poor little soul of mine,
But in the kindness of the Word—
That all the Grace may be Divine;
Though I be wanting in the flesh,
In Thee I'm daily born afresh.
Weigh this poor little soul of mine,
But in the kindness of the Word—
That all the Grace may be Divine;
Though I be wanting in the flesh,
In Thee I'm daily born afresh.
A cup of water in Thy Name
Is like an overflowing fount,
A living sea, that puts to shame
The glory of the earth's account;
And faith, that doth the lowliest tasks,
Is fulness which Thy service asks.
Is like an overflowing fount,
A living sea, that puts to shame
The glory of the earth's account;
And faith, that doth the lowliest tasks,
Is fulness which Thy service asks.
It is Thy Merits, Lord, that make
Our offerings beautiful and sweet,
And every cross for Thy dear sake
Borne gladly brings us to Thy Feet;
Nay, lifteth us, and lets us hide
Within Thy precious wounded Side.
Our offerings beautiful and sweet,
And every cross for Thy dear sake
Borne gladly brings us to Thy Feet;
Nay, lifteth us, and lets us hide
Within Thy precious wounded Side.
If I had riches of all lands
And laid them humbly in Thine Arms,
They would not answer those demands
Which seek for more than worldly charms;
In Thee, the crust, the widow's mite,
Reach to a grandeur infinite.
And laid them humbly in Thine Arms,
They would not answer those demands
Which seek for more than worldly charms;
In Thee, the crust, the widow's mite,
Reach to a grandeur infinite.
| The Prisoner of Love | |