 | Songs of salvation |  |
23
A GOOD CONFESSION.
[_]
Suggested! by hearing of a tombstone in a country churchyard in Wales, on which was inscribed the name of a man who had lived to some years above eighty, yet was said to be (alluding to his conversion to Christ) only “four years old when he died.”
If you ask me how long I have been in the world, I'm old—I'm very old;
If you ask me how many years I've lived, it'll very soon be told—
Past eighty years of age, yet only four years old!
If you ask me how many years I've lived, it'll very soon be told—
Past eighty years of age, yet only four years old!
Eighty years and more astray upon the mountains high,
In a land that's full of pits and snares, and that's desolate and dry.
I've oft been weary, oft been cold, and oft been like to die;
In a land that's full of pits and snares, and that's desolate and dry.
I've oft been weary, oft been cold, and oft been like to die;
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And there I'd have wandered, wandered still, as I'd wandered many a day;
I'd lost the track-marks of the flock, I'd got so far away,
If Jesus hadn't met me, that seeks for them that stray.
I'd lost the track-marks of the flock, I'd got so far away,
If Jesus hadn't met me, that seeks for them that stray.
The Shepherd took me in His arms, for you see I'm getting old,
And my strength is, as the Psalmist says, gone like a tale that's told;
“And other sheep,” the Shepherd says, “I have, and to the fold
And my strength is, as the Psalmist says, gone like a tale that's told;
“And other sheep,” the Shepherd says, “I have, and to the fold
“Them also must I bring,” for He has many little lambs,
All milk-white, mild, and innocent, a-skipping by their dams;
And many sheep that have been driven along the dusty roads,
Hard driven along by dogs and men, and pricked with iron goads,
And marked with iron brands to show they've oft been bought and sold;
Brown ragged sheep, with fleeces torn, and faces wizened and old;
All milk-white, mild, and innocent, a-skipping by their dams;
And many sheep that have been driven along the dusty roads,
Hard driven along by dogs and men, and pricked with iron goads,
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Brown ragged sheep, with fleeces torn, and faces wizened and old;
And if you ask me which of these I think He loves the best—
The lambs or sheep—I cannot say; He'll love me with the rest;
For “Feed my little lambs,” He said when He gave His flock to keep,
To Peter, once, and twice He said to Peter, “Feed my sheep.”
The lambs or sheep—I cannot say; He'll love me with the rest;
For “Feed my little lambs,” He said when He gave His flock to keep,
To Peter, once, and twice He said to Peter, “Feed my sheep.”
He's got a garden full of flowers, all planted row by row,
Roses and pinks and mignonette a-coming into blow,
And many little pleasant herbs that near each other grow:
Roses and pinks and mignonette a-coming into blow,
And many little pleasant herbs that near each other grow:
Balm o' Gilead, mint and thyme, and sage and marjorie,
And many a dry old stick and stalk, and many a withered tree,
That's neither good for use nor show, and these are folks like me;
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That's neither good for use nor show, and these are folks like me;
And many such-like ones He's got, but Scripture sayeth, “Lo!
He taketh such and maketh them to flourish and to grow;”
He taketh such and maketh them to flourish and to grow;”
For He's not a man that He should judge by seeing of His eyes,
He's not a Son of man that He should any one despise;
He's God Himself, and far too kind for that, and far too wise.
He's not a Son of man that He should any one despise;
He's God Himself, and far too kind for that, and far too wise.
He's God Himself, come down from Heaven to raise us when we fall;
He's come to heal us when we're sick, to hear us when we call;
If He hadn't come to do us good, He wouldn't have come at all.
He's come to heal us when we're sick, to hear us when we call;
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And “Ask, He says, and I will give, and knock, and I to you
Will open,” Jesus says to us, and I know that it is true,—
It isn't Him would say the things He doesn't mean to do.
Will open,” Jesus says to us, and I know that it is true,—
It isn't Him would say the things He doesn't mean to do.
He didn't come to judge the world, He didn't come to blame,
He didn't only come to seek; it was to save He came;
And when we call Him Saviour, then we call Him by His name.
He didn't only come to seek; it was to save He came;
And when we call Him Saviour, then we call Him by His name.
He sought for me when I was lost, He brought me to His fold;
He doesn't look for much from me, for He doesn't need be told
I'm past eighty years of age, and yet but four years old!
He doesn't look for much from me, for He doesn't need be told
I'm past eighty years of age, and yet but four years old!
July 30, 1872.
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