For the Poor - Poems and Songs


0, HOW PLEASANT (1957, August)

To Thy temple we repair;
Lord, we love to worship there;
There, within the vail, we meet
Christ upon the mercy-seat.

While Thy glorious name is sung,
Tune our lips, inspire our tongue;
Thee our joyful souls shall bless
Christ, the Lord our Righteousness.

While to Thee our prayers ascend,
Let Thine ear in love attend;
Hear us when Thy Spirit pleads;
Hear, for Jesus intercedes.

While Thy word is heard with awe,
While we tremble at Thy law,
Let Thy gospel's wondrous love
Ev'ry doubt and fear remove.

From Thy house when we return,
Let our hearts within us burn;
Then, at evening, we may say,
"We have walked with God today."

—No. 163. Good Old Songs.


A FEW MORE DAYS (1951, May)

A few more days on earth to spend,
And all my toils and cares shall end,
And I shall see my God and friend,
And praise His name on high;
No more to sigh or shed a tear,
No more to suffer pain or fear,
But God, and Christ, and heav'n appear
Unto the raptured eye.

Then, 0 my soul, despond no more,
The storm of life will soon be o'er,
And I shall find the peaceful shore
Of everlasting rest.
0 happy day joyful hour!
When freed from earth thy soul shall tow'r
Beyond the reach of Satan's pow'r,
To be forever blest.

—Good Old Songs, No. 393



Oh, once I had a glorious view
Of my redeeming Lord;
He said, "I'll be a God to you,"
And I believed His word.
But now I have a deeper stroke
Than all my groanings are;
My God has me of late forsook---
He's gone, I know not where.

Oh, what immortal joys I felt,
On that celestial day,
When my hard heart began to melt,
By love dissolved away.
But my complaint is bitter now,
For all my joys are gone;
I've strayed! I'm left!—I know not how;
The light's from me withdrawn.

Once I rejoiced the saints to meet,
To me they were most dear;
I then could stoop to wash their feet,
And shed a joyful tear.
But now I meet them as the rest,
And with them joyless stay;
My conversation's spiritless,
Or else I've naught to say.

I forward go in duty's way,
But can't perceive Him there;
Then backwards on the road I stray,
But cannot find Him there:
On the left hand, where He doth work,
Among the wicked crew,
And on the right, I find Him not,
Among the favored few.

What shall I do?—shall I lie down,
And sink in deep despair?
Will He forever wear a frown
Nor hear my feeble prayer?
No: He will put His strength in me,
He knows the way I've strolled;
And when I'm tried sufficiently,
I shall come forth as gold.

—No. 380 In The Good Old Songs.


A GUIDING STAR (1949, December)

There is a Star, a guiding Star,
Of all the train most bright;
Its glories shine above the skies,
It dwells enthroned in light;
It is the friend of all the good,
Whose hopes are fixed on high;
It cheers us through the vale of tears;
Its comforts never die.



(Copied from Zion's Advocate, October 15, 1870)

Thy own kind hand still leads me on
Through all the paths of life,
Establishes all my goings,
Upholds my soul in strife.

Thy promises are sweet to me;
Thy love my heart controls,
And melts it into tenderness,
When sovereign grace unfolds.

Thine own obedience shields me
From Sinai's raging flame,
And rests my soul in sweet repose
Upon thy holy name.

Thy hope is like an anchor sure,
That binds my soul to thee,
When dread affliction's billows rage,
And creature helps all flee.

Thy righteousness alone can clothe
From shame and sorrow's eye,
And make my soul from sin and death
Into thy bosom fly.

Thy wisdom, too, is still my guide,
When darkness shuts me in,
And leads me safe along the way
That's free from death and sin.

Then be my strength to hold me up,
My promise and my love,
Submission, hope and righteousness,
And wisdom from above.

Downsville, La., Sept. 12, 1870.


Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, and life unto the bitter in soul.—Job 3:20.



There was a little family
Who lived in Bethany;
Two sisters and a brother
Composed this family.
With prayer and with singing,
Like angels in the sky,
At morning and at evening,
They raised their voices high.

They lived in peace and pleasure
For many lonely years,
And laid away their treasures
Beyond this vale of tears;
Though poor and without money,
Their kindness made amends;
Their house was ever open
To Jesus and His friends.

Although they lived so happy,
So kind, so pure and good,
Their brother was afflicted,
And by it thrown in bed;
Poor Martha and her sister,
They wept aloud and cried
But still He grew no better;
He lingered on and died.

The Jews came to the sisters;
Laid Lazarus in the tomb,
And tried for to comfort,
And drive away their gloom.
When Jesus heard the tidings,
Far in a distant land,
So swiftly did He travel
To see that lonely band.

And while He was a-coming,
Martha met Him on the way,
And told Him that her brother
Had died and passed away;
He bless'd and He cheered her,
And told her not to weep,
For in Him was the power
To raise him from his sleep.

Yet while He was a-coming,
Mary met Him, lonely, too—
Down at His feet a-weeping,
Rehearsed the tale of woe!
When Jesus saw her weeping,
He fell a-weeping, too,
And wept until they showed Him
Where Lazarus was entombed.

They rolled away the cover,
He looked upon the grave,
And prayed unto. His Father,
His loving friend to save;
And Lazarus, in full power,
Came from the gloomy mound,
And in full life and vigor
He walked upon the ground.

So all you who love Jesus,
And do His holy will,
Like Mary, and like Martha,
You'll always use Him well;
He'll comfort and sustain you,
And take you to the skies,
And bid you live forever,
Where pleasure never dies.

—No. 713, in The Good Old Songs.


A MYSTERY (1981, November)

Great mystery that God should place
His love on any of Adam's race;
That I should also share a part,
And find a mansion in His heart.

Great mystery, I can't tell why
That Christ for sinful worms should die;
Should leave the boundless realms of bliss,
And die for sinners on the cross.

'Twas love that spread the gracious feast;
'Twas love that made my soul a guest;
'Twas love that brought Him from above;
'Twas love, Oh! matchless, boundless love.

—511 in Good Old Songs.

A Poem, written by: Elder L. V. Goodman, January 1, 1953.

A Poem, written by: Elder L. V. Goodman, January 1, 1953. (1995, July - August)
(Elder Goodman passed away May 15, 1992, at the age of 80 years.)

The star that led the wise men
To where the little King lay
Has always led God's servants
and will still lead them today.

It'll lead you in the ways of righteousness
And make your pathway bright,
And keep you from walking in darkness
For Jesus the Lord is our Light.

So when in the valley of despair
And in darkness the pathway you trod.
Then pray for the Light to appear
To lead you on life's rugged road.

The Lord will light all our darkness
From us He never goes far.
He's the root and off-spring of David
And the bright and the morning star.

So press onward Christians
Unto the Great I Am.
For we are heirs with Jesus
The Babe of Bethlehem.

Some day we'll rest in heaven
That home so bright and fair.
And rejoice in the glorious light
For there will be no darkness there.



(Copied from Pismo Times, Pismo Beach, California)

The following English translation of the poem-hymn, "To God," originally appeared in Dutch, over 100 years ago, under the title of "Aan God." It is the work of Jacobus Bellamy, of Dordrecht, or Dort, a town 11 miles southeast of Rotterdam, South Holland. For zinea translation of the poem-hymn, clipped from The Saturday Magazine, London, England, June 20, 1840, th Pismo Times is deeply indebted to Mr. 0. J. Mitchell, of Los Angeles.


For Thee, for Thee, my lyre I string,
Who, by ten thousand worlds attended,
Holdest Thy course sublime and splendid
Through heaven's immeasurable ring;
I tremble 'neath Thy blazing throne,
Thy light eternal built upon,---
Thy throne, as Thou, all radiant, bearing
Love's day-beams of benignity!
Yet terrible is Thine appearing
To them who fear not Thee.

O  what is mortal man, that he
May hear Thy heavenely temple ringing,
With songs that heaven's own choirs are singing,
And echo back the melody?
My soul is wandering from its place;
Mine eyes are lost amidst the space
Where thousand suns are rolled through heaven,—
Suns waked by Thee from chaos' sleep;
But with the thought my soul is driven
Down to a trackless deep.

There was a moment ere Thy plan
Poured out Time's stream of mortal glory;
Ere Thy high wisdom tracked the story
Of all the years since time began,
Bringing sweet peace from sorrow's mine,
And making misery discipline;
The bitter waters of affliction
Distilling into dews of peace,
And kindling heavenly benediction
From earth's severe distress.

Then did Thine Omnipresent eye,
Earth's million million wonders seeing,
Track through the misty maze of being
E'en my obscurest destiny.
I, in those marvellous plans, though yet
Unborn, had mine own portion set,
And Thou hadst marked my path, though lowly;
E'en to my meanness Thou didst give
Thy Spirit--Thou--so high—so holy
And I, Thy creature, live.

So, through this trembling ball of clay,
Thou to and fro dost kindly lead me;
'Midst life's vicissitudes I speed me,
And quiet peace attends my way.
And, 0, what bliss it is to be,
Though but an atom, formed by Thee;
By Thee, who, in Thy mercy, pourest
Rivers of grace, to whom, indeed,
The eternal oak-trees of the forest
Are as the mustard seed.

Up, then, my spirit! soar above
This vale where mists of darkness gather,
Up to the high eternal Father,
For thou wert fashioned by His love.
Up to the heavens! away! away?
No! bend thee down to dust and clay;
Heaven's dazzling light will blind and burn thee;
Thou canst not bear the awful blaze.
No! wouldst thou find the Godhead, turn thee
On nature's face to gaze.

Thou, in its every feature, thou
Mayest read the Almighty; every creature
That's spread upon the face of nature
Is brightened with His holy glow;
The rushing of the waterfall,
The deep green valley,--silent all;
The waving grain, the roaring ocean,
The woodland's wandering melody,
All—all that wakes the soul's emotion,
Creator! speaks of Thee.

But of Thy works through sea and land,
Or the wick fields of ether wending,
In man Thy noblest thoughts are blending;
Man is the glory of Thy hand!
Man, modelled in the form of grace,
Where every beauty has its place;
A gentleness and glory sharing
His spirit, where we may behold
A higher aim, a noble daring,---
'Tis Thine immortal mould.

O wisdom! 0 unbounded might!
I lose me in the light Elysian;
Mine eye is dark, and dimmed my vision;
Who am I in this gloomy night?
Eternal Being! let the ray
Of Thy high wisdom, bear away
My thoughts to Thine abode sublimest:
But how shall grovelling passions rise
To the proud temple where thou climbest.
The threshold of the skies?

Enough, if I a stammering hymn,
My God! to Thee, may sing, unworthy
Of those sweet strains poured out before Thee
By heavenly hosts of Cherubim.
Despise me not,----one spark confer,
Worthy of Thy own worshipper;
And better songs, and worthier praises,
Shall hallow Thee, when, midst the strain
Of saints, my voice its chorus raises,
Never to sink again.



Oh, where shall rest be found,
Rest for the weary soul?
'T were vain the ocean's depths to sound,
Or pierce to either pole.

The world can never give,
The bliss for which we sigh;
'T is not the whole of life to live,
Nor all of death to die.

Beyond this vale of tears,
There is a life above,
Unmeasured by the flight of years,
And all that life is love.

—No. 206 in The Good Old Songs



Lord, let me see Thy blissful face,
While I sojourn below;
'Tis from Thyself my joys arise;
And all my comforts flow.

A glimpse, a single glimpse of Thee,
Would more delight my soul
Than this vain world with all its joys,
Could I possess the whole.

(No. 717 in Baptist Hymn Book, by Elder Wilson Thompson)

A WONDERFUL LOVE (1947, September)

A WONDERFUL LOVE (1947, September)

0 let me run the Christian race
With diligence and speed;
God's word, His Spirit, and His grace
Do all to duty lead.

Did Jesus leave the realms of bliss,
To save from sin and hell?
A love so wonderful as this
Calls for a glowing zeal.

Those who to Christ for refuge flee,
Should in His footsteps tread
Our Prophet, Priest, and King should be
Both trusted and obeyed.

—Good Old Songs. No. 498


ABIDE WITH ME (1950, January and March 1951 and September 1951)

Abide with me! fast falls the even-tide;
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, 0 abide with me!

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;
Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
0 Thou, who changest not, abide with me!

I  need Thy presence every passing hour;
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's power?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me!

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee!
In life, in death, 0 Lord, abide with me!



Praise to our Shepherd's gracious name,
Who on so kind an errand came;
Came, that by Him His flock might live,
And more abundant life receive.

Hail, great Immanuel, from above!
High seated on thy throne of love:
0 pour the vital torrent down---
Thy people's joy, their Lord's renown.

The Shepherd's blood the sheep must heal;
0 may we all its influence feel!
'Till inward, deep experience show,
Christ can begin a heaven below.

—Thompson's Hymn, No 142


ACROSTIC (1952, April)

Look down from heaven, Thy throne,
0, merciful Father above,
Upon a sinner that fain would go
In all Thy commandments of love.
Saviour keep me all the day long,
And teach me to know right from wrong.

Ah, then I'd glorify Thy name;
Nor could an angel cause me shame:
Nay, but I could the promise claim.

Even 'til death, be Thou my guide,
Dearest Saviour, lovely Shepherd,
Who gave Thyself to save Thine own,
And Thou hast a bride prepared;
Rich in mercy that cannot waste—
Dear Saviour grant me a foretaste,
So that in Thee I may rest at last.

—Louise Ann Edwards (Coffey).
Written May 8, 1898.


ALPHA AND OMEGA (1953, December)

In the beginning God made the world
And all that in it is,
So every leaf and flower unfurled
Can rightly be called His.

By right of creation the claim is made—
No one disputes the claim---
They all to Him oblation paid.
All made for His glory—not for fame.

The Father talked of all they'd made,
Of grass and herb and trees of wood.
In all the work the Son gave aid,
And they together called it good.

They created heaven and earth and the ocean sweep,
Yet the earth, without form, was void;
And darkness lingered on the deep,
But they were not annoyed.

They called for light and light appeared
From the hold of an infinite store,
If not enough they never feared,
But what they could have some more.

The darkness was no nuisance, for they
Used it to make the night,
And then to make the glorious day
They used the blessed light.

They made the sun to rule the day
And the moon to shine at night,
But the moon of itself had not a ray—
Gave only reflected light.

When all this marvelous work was done
And on the "Seventh" finished,
The Father spoke again to the Son—
His want was not diminished.

"We've made the sun to warm the earth,
The rains and the breeze to cool it; 
But what will all this work be worth
With no one there to rule it?"

"I know," said the Father to the Son,
"Man! In our image; let's make him
In our image and likeness make this one
And to the garden in Eden we'll take him."

This garden was planted by the hand of God—
A type of the Kingdom to come,
And man might still be native to its sod
If he hadn't been so dumb.

When man was nothing but man—no more
Than a clod of the earth was he,
God breathed in his nostrils the breath He bore
Then the miracle of life we see.

But he listened to Eve and Eve to Old Nick,
Who swept them off their feet---
With his forked tongue he did the trick,
Mixing truth and error to make deceit.

"Though cycles roll and eons pass,
Our work will still be true,
Excepting man — alas, alas!
The thing most loved, we rue.

"I repent we made this man at all—
Our other work is good.
Man alone by sin did fall
Now must earn his livelihood.

"Not only that, the man must leave
The paradise we made,
And work and worry, sweat and grieve
Till recompense is paid."

The Son had heard what the Father said,
Yet not a word had He spoken,
His heart was sick, and I think it bled
If not entirely broken.

"I know," He said, with passion and grief,
"Man fell by sin into sorrow,
But isn't there a merciful plan of relief
From this dire situation of horror?"

"Oh, yes," said the Father, "if there were no plan,
Then mercy and grace would find one,
In all this realm we made for man,
I designed no scheme to bind one.

"The law was made for a guide unto life---
Not to punish a man for the breaking.
But man has chosen to follow his wife---
My beneficient law forsaking.

"The beasts of the field, the fish and the fowl
Have kept the law we gave them,
In the day to stroll, by night to prowl---
If they follow the law it will save them."

"But," said the Son, "I hope I may say,
They blindly follow their leading,
With nothing at all to lead them astray---
Just eating and drinking and breeding.

"But man alone in the whole creation
Had the misfortune to be tempted,
And fell into need of Love's mediation
All other creatures exempted."

"Ah," said the Father with sorrowful mein,
And a voice a bit unsteady,
"Don't say any more, I see what you've seen.
And I love him enough already.

"But we must save the law, I know it is needed,
Otherwise we wouldn't have made it.
Man understood and should have heeded---
He knew it was wrong to evade it."

"Save the law? but how shall we save it?
The law, as you see, is now broken."
"I know," said the Father, the one who gave it,
The maker of moon, had spoken.

"You know, my dear Son, as well as I,
Recompense of a sort is expected—"
"But the man is dead—you said he would die---
His error cannot be corrected."

"That's true," said the Father, "very true—
Water gone over the dam---
It'll never return, but what must we do?
We can't leave the law just a sham."

"No," said the Son, "the law must stand—
That is, for a time at least,
For you gave the law with your own hand
For man and prophet, king and priest."

"But I'm more concerned for the man's estate
Now under the law condemned.
Was it for this we deigned to create
A thing by all condemned?

"No, not that, but for our glory,
This wonderful work was planned,
And time will tell the wondrous story,
And my people will understand.

"I knew what would happen from the first,
When man was put on his own---
He'd fall, when tempted, and so be accursed—
And Eve—of his flesh, and bone of his bone.

"So both have sinned and are now quite dead,
And are come far short of my glory;
And all their descendants, since they were the head,
Are placed in the same category,"

"Isn't there something that can be done?"
Said the Son—"I'll do anything."
"Yes," said the Father, "my beloved Son,
You'll be their Prophet, Priest and King.

"I'll quicken their souls, now dead in sin---
Regenerate—give them new birth.
And they'll be governed by a law within
No longer by the law of the earth.

"They will not desire to do what's forbidden
By the law once given in the Garden,
Old things, by the new, will be overridden
And man for your sake'll have pardon.

"You'll go down to earth, be born of woman,
In many respects like others;
In a new dispensation, Jew, Greek and Roman,
In a spiritual sense'll be brothers.

You'll establish a kingdom and you'll be the King—
A spiritual kingdom, albeit,
My people--your subjects'll praise you and sing—
After the new birth they'll see it.

"I had a good reason for all we've done,
And am not surprised at man's strange behaviour
So in the person of my dear Son
I've provided for him a Saviour.

"You'll find man guilty and his judgment set
Helpless and hopeless anyone might may—
Ten thousand talents the weight of the debt,
Not a farthing with which to pay.

"I'll quicken each one into spiritual life,
The virgin Church'll be the mother—
This Church universal will be your wife
And the children each sister or brother.

"Though they be heirs of hell and damnation
By reason of sin in the Garden,
They'll have a new birth—regeneration
And through mercy and grace have pardon.

"You'll assume their burden of sin and disgrace—
I'll make you able to bear it
You'll carry it on to a tortuous place
Called a skull, and no one to share it.

"In the agony of death, you'll pay on the cross,
All that the law demanded
And redeem every child without one loss
No matter how black it is branded."

Oh, wonderful work, Oh, transcendent love!
No other shall have such glory!
Angels in heaven will sing it above,
While men on the earth preach the story.

Fort Myers, Fla.


AM I A CHILD? (1950, July)

'Tis a point I long to know,
Oft it causes anxious thought,
Do I love the Lord, or no?
Am I His, or am I not?

If I love, why am I thus?
Why this dull and lifeless frame?
Hardly, sure, can they be worse,
Who have never heard His name.

Could my heart so hard remain,
Prayer a task and burden prove,
Ev'ry trifle give me pain,
If I knew a Saviour's love?

When I turn my eyes within,
All is dark, and vain, and wild,
Filled with unbelief and sin,
Can I deem myself a child?

Lord, decide the doubtful case,
Thou who art Thy people's Sun,
Shine upon the work of grace,
If, indeed, it be begun.

—The Good Old Songs, No. 517


AM I A SOLDIER? (1951, June)

Am I a soldier of the cross,
A follower of the Lamb?
And shall I fear to own His cause,
Or blush to speak His name?

Must I be carried to the skies
On flow'ry beds of ease,
While others fought to win the prize,
And sailed through bloody seas?

Are there no foes for me to face?
Must I not stem the flood?
Is this vile world a friend to grace,
To help me on with God?

—Good Old Songs No. 476.


AWAKE! (1952, December)

Your harps, ye trembling saints,
Down from the willows take,
Loud to the praise of Christ our Lord,
Bid ev'ry string awake.

Though in a foreign land,
We are not far from home,
And nearer to our house above
We ev'ry moment come.

His grace shall to the end
Stronger and brighter shine;
Nor present things, nor things to come,
Shall quench the spark divine,

The time of love will come,
When we shall clearly see,
Not only that He shed His blood,
But each will say, "For me."

—No. 659, The Good Old Songs.



There's a beautiful home on the faraway shore,
A beautiful home for you and for me,
With Jesus we'll be forever more,
In That Beautiful home beyond the Sea.

0 the way seems rough and dreary, I know,
O the way seems dark and the pathway dim,
My Jesus will welcome me when He comes
To gather His jewels to be with Him.

They are waiting up there, my coming to greet,
I'll sing His praises ever more,
And all our loved ones we shall meet,
With Jesus on that golden shore.

That beautiful home, on the faraway shore—
They are singing praises to Him, up there,
No pain, no sorrow, sin nor woe
In that glory land where I hope to go.

Lovina Allen
Box 513,
Cheraw, Colo.


BEHOLD A SINNER! (1952, June)

Behold a sinner, dearest Lord,
Encouraged by Thy gracious word,
Would venture near to seek that bread,
By which Thy children here are fed.

Do not the humble suit deny,
Of such a guilty wretch as I;
But let me feed on crumbs, though small,
Which from Thy bounteous table fall.

I am a sinner, Lord, I own;
By sin and guilt I am undone;
Yet will I wait, and plead, and pray,
Since none are empty sent away.

—No. 570, The Good Old Songs.


BEHOLD THE LORD! (1950, August)

Behold, the blind their sight receive,
Behold the dead awake and live,
The dumb speak wonders, and the lame
Leap like the hart, and bless His name.

Thus doth th' Eternal Spirit own
And seal the mission of His Son;
The Father vindicates His cause,
While He hangs bleeding on the cross.

He dies, the heavens in mourning stood;
He rises and appears a God:
Behold the Lord ascending high,
No more to bleed, no more to die.

Hence and forever from my heart
I bid my doubts and fears depart,
And to those hands my soul resign,
Which bear credentials so divine.

—The Good Old Songs, No. 587


BEYOND THE SUNSET (1951, September)

Some day this life will all be over,
Some day our souls will fly away,
To be in judgment with our Saviour,
At the sunset of life's day;
I want to join the celebration,
Somewhere beyond the setting sun,
Where I shall hear my Saviour tell me
That a crown of life is given.

I know there is a land of sunshine,
Somewhere beyond the setting sun,
Where we can live thru endless ages—
If a crown of life has been given;
And even tho my sun is sinking
And soon the angels fair will come,
My ransomed soul will soon be winging
Far beyond the setting sun.

Beyond the sunset, beyond the shadows
Beyond this vale of grief and pain,
Beyond the journey thru death's dark valley
I know that I shall live again;
Beyond the heartaches and separations
The pearly gates are open wide,
Beyond the sunset, there is glory waiting,
Soon I shall see what waits inside.

Sent in by Mrs. Robert F. Ware, Carthage, Miss., in honor of her son, Billy Randolph, who sang this song a few hours before he died.



Blest are the saints who sit on high,
Around Thy throne of majesty;
The brightest glories shine above,
And all their work is praise and love.

Blest are the souls that find a place
Within the temple of Thy grace;
There they behold Thy gentler rays,
And seek Thy face and learn Thy praise.

Blest are the men whose hearts are set
To find the way to Zion's gate;
God is their strength, and through the road
They lean upon their helper, God.

Cheerful they walk with growing strength,
Till all shall meet in heaven at length,
Till all before Thy face appear,
And join in nobler worship there.

—Good Old Songs, No. 724


BLESSED JESUS! (1954, March)

Blessed Jesus! Thee we sing;
Thou of life th' eternal spring;
Thou art Worthy, Thou alone;
Thou the Rock and Corner-Stone.

'Tis from Thee salvation flows;
This the ransomed sinner knows.
Thou, 0 Christ, art all his plea,
When he sees his poverty,

None shall glory in Thy sight
Of their labors e'er so bright;
All who're taught by Thee shall know,
Living faith from God must flow.

Grace shall be our lovely theme;
Free redemption, glorious scheme!
This will be the song above;
Praise to Jesus' bleeding love.

No. 601, The Good Old Songs.



Blow ye the trumpet, blow,
The gladly solemn sound;
Let all the nations know,
To earth's remotest bound,
The year of jubilee is come,
Return, yet ransomed sinners, home.

Exalt the Lamb of God,
The sin atoning Lamb;
Redemption by His blood
Through all the lands proclaim.
The year of jubilee, &c.

The slaves of sin and hell
Their liberty receive,
And safe in Jesus dwell,
And blest in Jesus live.
The year of jubilee, &c.

Ye hapless debtors know
The sovereign grace of heaven;
Though sums immense ye owed,
A free discharge is given.
The year of jubilee, &c.

—No. 560, The Good Old Songs.



To leave my dear friends, and from neighbbors to part
And go from my home, it afflicts not my heart,
Like thoughts of absenting myself for a day
From that bless'd retreat where I've chosen to pray.

Dear bow'r, where the pine and the poplar have spread,
And wove with their branches, a roof o'er my head;
How oft have I knelt on the ever-green there,
And poured out my soul to my Saviour in prayer.

The early shrill notes of the loved nightingale
That dwelt, in my bow'r, I observed as my bell,
To call me to duty, while birds of the air
Sing anthems of praises: as I went to prayer:

How sweet were the zephyrs perfumed by the pine,
The ivy, the balsam, the wild eglantine;
But sweeter, ah! sweeter superlative were
The joys I have tasted: in answer to prayer:

For Jesus, my Saviour, oft deigned there to meet,
And blessed with His presence my humble retreat,
Oft filled me with rapture and blessedness there,
Inditing, in heaven's: own language, my prayer:

Dear bower, I must leave you and bid you adieu,
And pay my devotions in parts that are new,
For Jesus, my Saviour, resides everywhere,
And can, in all places: give answer to prayer.



Salvation through our dying God
Is finished and complete;
He paid whate'er His people owed,
And cancelled all their debt.

He sends His Spirit from above,
Our nature to renew;
Displays His pow'r, reveals His love,
Gives life and comfort too.

He heals our wounds, subdues our foes,
And shows our sins forgiv'n;
Conducts us through the wilderness,
And brings us safe to heav'n.

Salvation now shall be my stay;
"A sinner saved," I'll cry;
Then gladly quit this mortal clay,
For better joys on high.

—No. 431, The Good Old Songs.


COME AND GO WITH ME! (1950, June)

Oh, who will come and go with me
I'm on my journey home:
I hope fair Canaan's land to see;
I'm on my journey home.

Oh, come and go with me,
For I'm on my journey home;
Home, sweet home, bless the Lord.

I'll join with those who're gone before,
I'm on my journey home;
Where sin and sorrow are no more;
I'm on my journey home .

—The Good Old Songs, No. 176


COME HOME! (1950, June)

Come, ye children, poor and needy,
Weak and wounded, sick and sore,
Jesus ready stands to help you.
Full of pity, love and pow'r;
He is able, He is able,
He is willing; wait no more.

Ho, ye thirsty, come, and welcome,
God's free bounty glorify;
Sweet relief and consolation--
He will help you to draw nigh;
Without money, without money,
Come to Jesus Christ and buy.

Come, ye weary, heavy laden,
Hear the Master's tender call;
If you tarry till you're better
You will never come at all;
Not the righteous, not the righteous,
Sinners Jesus came to call.

View Him prostrate in the garden,
On the ground your Saviour lies;
On the bloody tree behold Him;
Hear Him cry before He dies—
"It is finished!" "It is finished!"
Children, will not this suffice?

—The Good Old Songs, No. 654.



Come, thou almighty King
Help us Thy name to sing,
Help us to praise!
Father all glorious,
O'er all victorious,
Come and reign over us,
Ancient of days.

Come, Thou incarnate Word,
Gird on Thy mighty sword,
Our prayer attend;
Come, and Thy people bless,
And give Thy word success,
Spirit of holiness,
On us descend.

Come, holy Comforter,
Thy sacred witness bear
In this glad hour;
Thou who almighty art,
Now rule in every heart,
And ne'er from us depart,
Spirit of power!

To the great One in Three,
Eternal praises be
His sovereign majesty
May we in glory see,
And in eternity
Love and adore.

—No. 1, The Good Old Songs.


CROSS OF CHRIST (1952, April)

Did Christ the great example lead
For all His humble train,
In washing the disciples' feet,
And wiping them again?
And did my Lord and Master say,
"If I have washed your feet,
Ye also ought to watch and pray,
And wash each other's feet."

0, blessed Jesus, at Thy board
I have Thy children met;
The bread I've broke, the wine I've poured,
We've washed each other's feet.
In imitation of my Lord,
Whose blood for me did sweat,
I yield unto His sacred word,
And wash the pilgrim's feet.

Yea, blessed Jesus, I, like Thee,
Would Christians often meet; 
The least of all the flock would he,
And wash His children's feet.
For this let men reproach, defame,
And call me what they will;
I still would follow Christ the Lamb,
And be His servant still.

--No. 604, Good Old Songs.


DAWN OF ETERNAL DAY (1949, October)

The darkest hour of night, they say,
Comes just before the dawn;
If that be true, dear Lord, I pray,
Please leave me not alone.

Be with us, Lord, throughout the day,
And lead our steps aright;
We cannot hope to find the way,
Without Thy guiding light.

Forsake us not through darkest years,
Lest we should go astray;
Oh, heal our pains and dry our tears,
Till dawn of that Great Day.

Composed by Pauline (Evelyn P.)
Hamilton, R. 2,
Calhoun City, Miss.



(Ps 86:17)

Oftentimes in this weary land,
Doubts and fears arise;
Then it is we're found desiring
Fresh blessings to realize.

However bright our experience may be,
Our comforts will decline
By God's sovereign act to draw us nigh,
Or from chastisement condign.

Here, I will relate an experience,
When I in doubt was found;
I believe it was of the Lord for
My comforts did abound.

One night I sat down at home with
Gadsby's Hymn Book in.hand,
Wondering if my sins were forgiven;
Oh, where did I stand?

I desired if my sins were forgiven,
That I might turn to a song
Bearing on the forgiveness of sin,
And this answer came along:

"Blessed with the pardon of her sin,
My soul beneath thy shade would lie,
And sing the love that took me in,
While others sank in sin to die."

Faith laid hold on these words and
I retired in solid peace;
Now I hope this was a foretaste of
The joys that never cease.




How pleasant 'tis to see
Kindred and friends agree,
Each in his proper station move;
And each fulfill his part
With sympathizing heart,
In all the cares of life and love.

Like fruitful showers of rain,
That water all the plain,
Descending from the neighboring hills,
Such streams of pleasure roll
Through every friendly soul,
Where love, like heavenly dew, distils.

—No. 104, Good Old Songs.


ETERNAL LIFE! (1953, October)

Eternal life! how sweet the sound,
To sinners who deserve to die!
Publish the bliss the world around,
Echo the joys, ye worlds on high.

Eternal life! how will it reign,
When mounting from this breathless clod,
The soul discharged from sin and pain,
Ascends t' enjoy its Father, God!

Eternal life! how will it bloom
In beauty on that blissful day,
When, rescued from th' imprisoning tomb,
Glory invests our rising clay.

Eternal life! 0 how refined
The joy, the triumph how divine!
When saints in body and in mind 
Shall in the Saviour's image shine!

—No. 640, The Good Old Songs.



So oft I'm sad and lonely,
No friend, it seems, is near.
Bereft of many loved ones
And kindred ties so dear.

When thus I'm so despondent,
I fain, would to Him turn
Who's promised "grace sufficient"
While I must here sojourn.

Though Father, thou has promised
To ne'er forsake thine own—
The way seems, dark and dreary
So oft I feel alone.

Look down upon me, Father,
In this dark world of woe.
Oh, Father, guide me ever,
Or lead where I must go.

Though I feel unworthy
A worthless worm I own
Yet thou hast bade me follow
In paths I had not known.

Thou knoweth my spirit is willing
But, oh, my flesh is weak,
Without Thee I'm so weary.
Thy face, dear Lord, I seek.

So oft I'm bowed so lowly,
Wilt Thou not lift me up?
My soul for Thee is yearning---
Come in, with me and sup.

When dark clouds seem to vanish,
Ah, now, methinks I hear Him;
A "still small voice" so near
And now my gloom is banished
And I've no room for fear.

Dear Jesus, Thou art lovely,
Fairer than noon-day sun.
Dear Jesus, stay Thou near me,
'Til my life's work is done.

Dear Father, Thou art faithful;
Thy promises so sure!
Oh, make me wholly trust Thee,
For I'm so weak and poor.

Thy Holy Book so precious,
Our guide along the way;
Such comfort in things written
By saints of ancient day.

"Is God clean gone forever?"
Was asked so long ago— 
No doubt, was just recorded
For the poor, like me to know.

Composed in 1935, by LENA DEJARNETTE
Marvell, Ark.



More than your schools can teach, within
Myself, alas I know;
Too dark ye cannot paint the sin,
Too small the merit show.

I bow my forehead to the dust,
I veil mine eyes for shame;
And urge in trembling self-distrust,
A prayer without a claim.

No offerings of my own I have,
Nor works my faith to prove;
I can but give the gifts He gave,
And plead His love for love.

So in the maddening maze of things,
And tossed by storm and flood;
To one fixed trust my spirit clings,
I know that God is good.

And now beside the silent sea,
I wait the muffled oar;
No horn can ever come to me,
On ocean or on shore.

I know not what the future hath,
Of marvel or surprise;
Assured alone that life and death,
His mercy underlies.

I know not where His islands lift,
Their fronded palms in air; 
I only know I cannot drift,
Beyond His love and care.

The above verses are selected from "Eternal Goodness" by John G. Whittier. Mr. Whittier's prayer was like the prayer of the poor Publican : "Without a Claim." The poet knew God in the pardon of his sins; his body is at rest, waiting for the second coming of the Lord, then body and soul will be reunited to forever dwell with God and the angels.

Sparks, Ga. 


FELLOW-PILGRIMS. (1952, March)

Brethren, we are fellow pilgrims
Trav'ling on life's rugged way.
Let us walk as God's dear children
As we journey day by day.

Let us love our God supremely;
Let us love each other, too.
Let us pray for one another
Day by day the journey through.

Let us guard against division—
Ever looking to our Lord.
He will surely not forsake us,
For He's said so in His Word.

Let us bear each other's burdens,
Ne'er a murmur nor a sigh.
And when traveling days are over
He'll receive us up on high.

Then we'll praise Him perfectly,
When we lay our burdens down.
There we'll see our blessed Saviour
Seated on His glorious throne.

—S. B. Norwood.
Section Ala.


FELLOWSHIP WITH GOD! (1951, November)

From all that's mortal, all that's vain,
And from this earthly clod,
Arise, my soul, and strive to gain
Sweet fellowship with God.

Say, what is there beneath the skies,
Wherever thou hast trod,
Can suit thy wishes or thy joys
Like fellowship with God?

Not life, nor all the toys of art,
Nor pleasure's flowery road,
Can to my soul such bliss impart
As fellowship with God.

When I am made in love to bear
Affliction's needful rod,
Light, sweet and kind, the strokes appear,
Through fellowship with God.

And when the icy hand of death
Shall chill my flowing blood,
O may I yield my latest breath,
In fellowship with God.

When I, at last, to heaven ascend,
And gain my blest abode,
There an eternity I'll spend
In fellowship with God.


FOR THE POOR (1951, September)

Dedicated to the glory of God:
For the comfort of those who mourn;
That such might be more able to stand
Life's every tempestuous storm.

This dear little ship, that ply's the seas
With goods from a distant shore,
Each month it brings that heavenly food,
And we often wish for more.

Its well-known name is plainly seen
On beautiful snow-white sails,
A name we love the most to see,
When the postman brings the mail.

A cargo from that heavenly port,
Laden with silver and gold.
Treasures from God's bountiful store
Of things both new and old!

"FOR THE POOR," an appropriate name,
Written across its snow-white sails
A name we always long to see.
Please God—that it may not fail.

H. A. Byington,
Sparks, Ga.



Behold the sure Foundation Stone
Which God in Zion lays,
To build our heav'nly hopes upon,
And His eternal praise.

Chosen of God, to sinners dear,
Let saints adore the name;
They trust their whole salvation here,
Nor shall they suffer shame.

The foolish builders, scribe and priest,
Reject it with disdain;
Yet on this Rock the church shall rest,
And envy rage in vain.

What though the gates of hell withstood,
Yet must this building rise;
'Tis Thine own work, Almighty God,
And wondrous in our eyes.

—No. 485, The Good Old. Songs.


FRIEND DIVINE (1954, February)

I love Thy kingdom, Lord,
The house of Thine abode;
The church our blest Redeemer saved
With His own precious blood.

I love Thy church, 0 God,
Her walls before Thee stand,
Dear as the apple of Thine eye,
And graven on Thy hand.

For her my tears shall fall,
For her my prayers ascend,
To her my cares and toils be giv'n
Till cares and toils shall end.

Beyond my highest joy
I prize her heav'nly ways;
Her sweet communion, solemn vows,
Her hymns of love and praise.

—No. 604 in Good Old Songs.


GETHSEMANE (1951, February)

Many woes had Christ endured,
Many sore temptations met,
Patient, and to pains inured!
But the sorest trial yet
Was to be sustained in thee
Gloomy, sad Gethsemane!

There my God bore all my guilt:
This, through grace, can be believed;
But the torments which He felt
Are too vast to be conceived:
None can penetrate through thee,
Doleful, dark Gathsemane!

All my sins against my God---
All my sins against His laws—
All my sins against His blood---
All my sins against His cause:—
Sins as boundless as the sea!
Hide me, 0 Gethsemane!

Here's my claim, and here alone
None a Saviour more can need:
Deeds of righteousness I've none,
Not a work that I can plead:
Not a glimpse of hope for me,
Only in Gethsemane!

—The Good. Old Songs, No. 736


GLORIOUS PLAN! (1950, September)

Salvation, what a glorious plan!
How suited to our need;
The grace that raises fallen man
Is wonderful indeed.

'Twas wisdom formed the vast design
To ransom us when lost,
And love's unfathomable mine
Provided all the cost.

Strict justice, with approving look,
The holy cov'nant sealed;
And truth and power undertook
The whole should be fulfilled.

Truth, wisdom, justice, power and love,
In all their glory shone,
When Jesus left the courts above,
And died to save His own.

—The Good Old Songs, No. 226


GLORIOUS REST (1952, November)

"There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God." Heb 4:9.

This rest is for the weary soul,
And not for feet and hands or limbs;
A rest that never can be told,
Where peace on earth and heaven begins.

Another rest—more glorious still---
Those many mansions in the sky,
Where all the dead in Christ shall live,
When He from their silent tomb shall raise.

Eternal rest—though yet unseen;
Here patiently we wait for it;
Such patience is the Christian's creed,
But not in idleness to sit.

This glorious rest, we then should prize,
And prove it by that which we do,
Satan cannot, with his device,
Take this sweet hope and rest from you.

Sparks, Ga.


GO PREACHERS! (1951, October)

Go, preachers, and tell it to the world,
Go, Gene, and tell it to the world,
Go, George, and tell it to the world,
Poor mourners found a home at last.

Through full grace and a dying Lamb,
Through full grace and a dying Lamb,
Through full grace and a dying Lamb,
Poor mourners found a home at last.



Great spirit of immortal love,
Vouchsafe our frozen hearts to move;
With ardor strong those breasts inflame,
To all that own a Saviour's name.

Still let the heave'nly fire endure,
Fervent and vig'rous, true and pure;
Let ev'ry heart and ev'ry hand
Join in the dear fraternal band.

Celestial Dove, descend and bring
The smiling blessings on Thy wing,
And make us taste those sweets below,
Which in the blissful mansions grow.

—The Good Old Songs, No. 425.


HAIL, SOVEREIGN LOVE! (1951, December)

Hail, sovereign love, that first began
The scheme to rescue fallen man;
Hail, matchless, free, eternal grace,
That gave my soul a hiding place.

Against the God that rules the sky
I fought with hand uplifted high;
Despised His rich, abounding grace,
Too proud to seek a hiding place.

Should storm of thund'ring vengeance roll,
And shake the earth from pole to pole,
No flaming bolt shall daunt my face,
For Jesus is my hiding place.

A few more roiling suns at most,
Will land me safe on Canaan's coast,
Where I can sing the song of grace,
And see my glorious hiding place.

The Good Old Songs, No. 328.


HAPPY DAY. (1950, May)

0 happy day, that fixed my choice,
On Thee, my Saviour and my God!
Well may this glowing heart rejoice,
And tell its raptures all abroad.

Happy day, happy day,
When Jesus washed my sins away;
He taught me how to watch and pray,
In Him confiding ev'ry day;
Happy day, happy day,
When Jesus washed my sins away.

'Tis done, the great transaction's done—
I am my Lord's and He is mine;
He drew me, and I followed on,
Charmed to confess the voice divine.

Now rest, my long-divided heart;
Fixed on this blissful centre, rest;
Nor ever from thy Lord depart,
With Him of every grace possessed.

—The Good Old Songs, No. 335.


HEAVEN! (1950, January)

0, sing to me of heav'n
When I am called to die;
Sing songs of holy ecstasy
To waft my soul on high.


There'll be no sorrow there;
There'll be no sorrow there;
In heav'n above, where all is love,
There'll be no sorrow there.

When cold and sluggish drops
Roll off my marble brow,
Break forth in songs of joyfulness,
Let heav'n begin below.

When the last moments come,.
0, watch my dying face
To catch the bright seraphic gleam
Which o'er my features plays.

Then to my raptured ear
Let one sweet song be giv'n,
Let music charm me last on earth,
And greet me first in heav'n.

Then round my senseless clay
Assemble those I love,
And sing of heav'n, delightful heav'n;
My glorious home above.

Good Old Songs, No. 21.


HISTORICAL HYMNS (1950, October)

John A. Granade, the composer of SWEET RIVERS OF REDEEMING LOVE, and a number of other familiar church hymns, was an American Poet and a minister of the gospel; born in 1763; died in 1807, age 44 years. As to the tenet of his faith, we have no record. But, judging from the sentiment contained in his writings, he was far from being tainted with arminianism, as most of the modern hymn writers are. His first hymn is based upon the expression found in the Psalms of David— Ps 26:8, and reads as follows: "They shall be abundantly satisfied with the fatness of thy house; thou shalt make them drink of the river of thy pleasures."

Sweet rivers of redeeming love,
I see before me lie.
Had I the pinion of a dove,
I'd to those rivers fly.
I'd rise superior to my pain,
With joy outstrip the wind;
I'd cross bold Jordan's stormy main,
And leave this world behind.

A few more days or months at most,
My troubles will be ore;
I hope to join the heavenly host
On Canaan's happy shore.
My rapturous soul shall drink and feast
In loves unbounded sea;
The glorious hope of endless rest
Is ravishing to me.

Then will I tune my harp of gold
To my eternal King.
In ages that can ne'er be told
I'll make His praises ring.
All hail eternal Son of God,
Who died on Calvary,
And saved me with thy precious blood
To ever dwell with thee!

The following is the language of the Saviour while here on earth with His disciples, and is found in Joh 10:14: "I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine." From this Scripture the following was written:

Let thy kingdom, blessed Saviour,
Come and bid our jarrings cease;
Come, 0 come, and reign forever,
God of love and Prince of peace.
Visit now thy precious Zion;
See thy people mourn and weep;
Day and night thy lambs are crying,
Come, good Shepherd, feed thy sheep!

Atkins, Ark. Compiled by J. H. O'Neal



You may sing of the beauty of mountain and dale,
Of the silvery streamlet and flow'rs of the vale;
But the place most delightful this earth can afford,
Is the place of devotion—the house of the Lord.

You may boast of the sweetness of day's early dawn,
Of the sky's soft'ning graces when day is just gone;
But there's no other season or time can compare
With the house of devotion—the season of prayer

You may value the friendships of youth and of age,
And select for my comrades the noble and sage;
But the friends that most cheer me on life's rugged road,
Are the friends of my Master—the children of God.

You may talk of your prospects of fame or of wealth,
And the hopes that oft flatter the fav'rites of health;
But the hope of bright glory--of heavenly bliss!
Take away ev,ry other, and give me but this.

Ever hail, blessed temple, abode of my God,
I will turn to thee often to hear from His word;
I will walk to the altar with those that I love,
And delight in the prospect revealed from above.

—No. 125, The Good Old Songs.

House of the Lord

House of the Lord (1997, July - August)

You may sing of the beauty of mountain and dale,
Of the silvery streamlet and flow'rs of the vale;
But the place most delightful this earth can afford,
Is the place of devotion — the house of the Lord

You may boast of the sweetness of day's early dawn,
Of the sky's soft'ning graces when day is just gone;
But there's no other season or time can compare
With the house of devotion —the season of prayer

You may value the friendships of youth and of age,
And select for my comrades the noble and sage;
But the friends that most cheer me on life's rugged road,
Are the friends of my Master — the children of God.

You may talk of your prospects of fame or of wealth,
And the hopes that oft flatter the fav'rites of health;
But the hope of bright glory — of heavenly bliss!
Take away ev'ry other, and give me but this.

Ever hail, blessed temple, abode of my God;
I will turn to thee often to hear from His word;
I will walk to the altar with those that I love,
And delight in the prospect revealed from above

--Copied from The Good Old Songs #125



I am a little scholar,
I daily go to school;
To learn of loving Jesus,
His perfect, holy rule.
The scholars all do love Him,
The school is large and free;
Come all ye humble sinners,
And go to school with me.

I am a little Christian,
The Lord hath made me so;
All over a new creature,
What wonders He can do.
I love the things I hated,
And hate the things I loved;
The Lord is now preparing me,
To reign with Him above.

I am a little preacher,
I preach the gospel free;
And all my Master gives me,
I give it all away.
And when my heart is empty,
I go to Master's store
And tell Him all about it;
He smiles and gives me more.

I am a little shepherd,
I feed my Master's sheep;
Along the hill of Zion,
With them I love to keep.
The food my Master gives me,
With which I feed the flock,
Is the word of life divine;
And honey from the Rock.

I am a little watchman,
I stand on Zion's wall,
And when the foe is coming,
I give a certain call.
I blow my little trumpet,
And let the people know,
Come all and do take warning;
Escape from every foe.

I am a little soldier,
I've 'listed in the war,
I've fought in many battles;
May fight in many more.
And when my warfare's over,
I'll lay my armor down,
And fly away to Jesus;
And wear a starry crown.


I LOVE THY KINGDOM, LORD! (1952, October)

I love Thy kingdom, Lord
The house of Thine abode;
The church our blest Redeemer saved
With His own precious blood.

I love Thy church, 0 God,
Her walls before Thee stand,
Dear as the apple of Thine eye,
And graven on Thy hand.

For her my tears shall fall,
For her my prayers ascend,
To her my cares and toils be giv'n
Till cares and toils shall end.

Beyond my highest joy
I prize her heav'nly ways;
Her sweet communion, solemn vows,
Her hymns of love and praise.

Jesus, Thou Friend divine,
Our Saviour and our King,
Thy hand, from ev'ry snare and foe,
Shall great deliv'rance bring.

Sure as Thy truth shall last,
To Zion shall be giv'n
The brightest glories earth can yield,
And brighter bliss of heav'n.

—No. 604, The Good Old Songs.


I THANK THEE (1951, July)

I thank Thee, Lord, and thank Thee again
For Thy goodness and mercy to the children of men;
For Thy kind and tender care
To Thy people here and everywhere.

Thank Thee for the privilege of reading Thy Word
And for the many good sermons which we have heard,
Preached on Thy mercy love and truth.
Oh, we cannot estimate its worth.

And for the power to become Thy daughters and sons
And the promise of finishing the good work begun;
Thank Thee for the blessed hope Thou hast given---
It points the way to that sweet home in heaven.

I thank Thee for so much evidence
Of a better home than this when we're called hence;
Thank Thee for the air we breathe and the things we eat,
For the rest we get and a good night's sleep.

Do bless us to keep our garments white---
For we do believe that this is right.
We are so poor, weak and undeserving
But Thou art pure and just and always serving.

We with so many things we need---
For this we should be thankful indeed:
Thou all powerful, just and right---
And for this we should strive with all our might

To walk the path that Jesus trod,
That strait and narrow way that leads to God!
Bless us to stand on that sure foundation
That we may draw water from wells of salvation.

I thank Thee, Lord, that thou hast been
So good to us from beginning to end.
Bless us to strive to do and say
Just what we should from day to day.

And when our time on earth is o'er
Do waft us to that blest shore
On Thy dear wings of love,
That we may ever be with Thee at home above.

219 W. 6th St.,
Ada, Okla.


I WANT A HEART TO PRAY. (1953, March)

I want a heart to pray,
To pray and never cease;
Never to murmur at my stay,
Or wish my suffering less.

This blessing above all,
Always to pray I want;
On thee in each distress to call,
And never, never faint.

I want with all my heart
Thy pleasure to fulfill,
To know myself, and what thou art,
And what's thy perfect will.

I want a true regard,
A single, steady aim,
A pure desire that all may learn
To glorify thy name.

I want—I know not what;
I want my wants to see;
I want,—alas! what want I not,
When Christ is not with me?

—No. 87, Apostolic Hymns.

I'd Rather Walk With Jesus

I'd Rather Walk With Jesus (1993, May - June)

If all the world were made of gold,
And every ounce of it were mine,
I'd give it all for one sweet view
Of Him who made the sun to shine.

I'd rather live in poverty,
And walk with Jesus day by day,
Than live in temp'ral luxury,
And then at last be cast away.

The wealth of earth will soon dissolve,
It is not ours beyond the grave;
It cannot purchase happiness,
Nor has it power our souls to save.

0 may God's kingdom occupy
Our chief allegiance and concern,
And may we seek His righteousness
Until our blessed Lord's return.

Elder Ralph E. Harris
Caryville, Florida


IT IS FINISHED (1953, June)

"It is finished!" sinners, hear it
'Tis the dying Victor's cry;
"It is finished!" angels bear it,
Bear the joyful truth on high;
"It is finished!" "It is finished!"
Tell it through the earth and sky.

Hear the Lord Himself declaring
All performed He came to do;
Sinners, in yourselves despairing,
This is joyful news to you,
Jesus speaks it, Jesus speaks it,
His are faithful words and true.

"It is finished!" all is over;
Yes, the cup of wrath is drained;
Such the truth these words discover,
Thus the victory was obtained;
'Tis a victory, 'tis a victory,
None but Jesus could have gained.

—No. 655, The Good Old Songs.

IT IS FINISHED (1957, June)

IT IS FINISHED (1957, June)

"It is finished!" All is over;
Yes, the cup of wrath is drained;
Such the truth these words discover,
Thus the victory was obtained;
'Tis a victory, 'tis a victory,
None but Jesus could have gained it!


JESUS HEAR OUR PRAYER! (1949, October)

For a season called to part,
Let us now ourselves commend
To the gracious eye and heart
Of our ever-present Friend.

Jesus, hear our humble prayer,
Tender Shepherd of Thy sheep;
Let Thy mercy and Thy care
All our souls in safety keep.

In Thy strength may we be strong;
Sweeten ev'ry cross and pain;
Give us, if we live, e'er long
Here to meet in peace again.

—Good Old Songs, 456.


JESUS IS ALL (1953, March)

To view the church with glory crowned
And in her robe so bright,
Excels the sun that shines around;
Oh! what a lovely sight!

Christ, her robe, is always white;
No spot thereon can fall;
'Twill not compare with earthly light;
No, 'twill not compare at all.

"She is all glorious within,
Her clothing is of wrought gold;"
Our Lord took on Him all her sin,
So says the Word of old.

When she was low, sunk and far-gone,
In debt, and nothing to pay;
The Saviour died to save His own,
And washed her guilt away.

He claimed her for His bride,
And proved His love for her
By the blood which flowed from His side,
And bidding her not to fear.

When she was without hope in God
And had no earthly friend,
He gave her comfort in His word,
And showed Himself her Friend.

Give me some token, 0 dear Lord,
That I in Thee am blessed,
That I may rejoice in Thy word,
As when first I found rest.

Written Feb. 20, 1898, by Louise A. Edwards Coffey, Polkton, N. C.


JESUS IS ALL I WANT! (1950, November)

Jesus is all I wish or want,
For him I pray, I thirst, I pant;
Let others after earth aspire,
Christ, is the treasure I desire.

Possessed of Him, I ask no more;
He is an all sufficient store;
To praise Him all my pow'rs conspire—
Christ is the treasure I desire.

If He His smiling face but hide,
My soul no comfort has beside;
Distressed I after Him inquire---
Christ is the treasure I desire.

Come, humble souls, and view His charms,
Take refuge in His loving arms,
And sing, while you His worth admire,
Christ is the Saviour I desire.

No. 395, in The Good Old Songs.


JESUS IS OUR ALL (1950, March)

'Twas for the Church, the Saviour says,
He sanctified Himself for them;
He set Himself apart, we see,
To be their priest, their root, their stem.

He is their Lord, their life, their light,
Their food and raiment, rock and tower;
He's set apart their hiding place,
And keeps them safe by sovereign power.

Lord, we adore thy matchless love,
That gives such pledges from above,
Who set thyself apart to bring
Poor rebels home, thy praise to sing.

W. Thompson, in The Baptist Hymn Book.


JESUS PAID THE DEBT (1951, February)
I hear the Saviour say,
Thy strength indeed is small;
Child of weakness, watch and pray,
Find in me thine all in all.

Jesus paid it all,
All the debt I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain:
He washed me white as snow.

Lord, now indeed I find
Thy pow'r, and thine alone,
Can change the leper's spots,
And melt the heart of stone.

For nothing good have I
Whereby thy grace to claim—
He'll wash my garments white
In the blood of Calvary's Lamb.

When from my dying bed
My ransomed soul shall rise,
Then Jesus paid it all,
Shall rend the vaulted skies.

—No. 97 in Apostolic Hymns.


JESUS REIGNS (1954, June)

Hark! ten thousand harps and voices

Sound the notes of praise above;
Jesus reigns, and heav'n rejoices,

Jesus reigns, the God of love.
See, He sits on yonder throne;

Jesus rules the world alone.

Hallelujah! hallelujah!

Jesus rules the world alone.

Jesus, hail! whose glory brightens

All above, and gives its worth;
Lord of life, the smile enlightens,

Cheers and charms, Thy saints on earth.
When we think of love like Thine,
Lord, we own it love divine.

Hallelujah! hallelujah!

Lord, we own it love divine.

Saviour, hasten Thine appearing;

Bring, 0 bring the glorious day,
When, the awful summons hearing,

Heav'n and earth shall pass away.
Then, with golden harps, we'll sing,
"Glory, glory to our King!"

Hallelujah! hallelujah!

"Glory, glory to our King!"

In Good Old Songs No. 705


JESUS, MY ALL! (1950, December)

Jesus, before Thy face I fall,
My Lord, my life, my hope, my all;
For I have no where else to. flee;
No sanctuary, Lord, but Thee.

In Thee I ev'ry glory view,
Of safety, strength, and beauty, too:
Beloved Saviour, ever be
A sanctuary unto me.

Whatever woes and fears betide,
In Thy dear bosom let me hide;
And while I pour my soul to Thee,
Do Thou my sanctuary be.

—The Good Old Songs, No. 639


JUST AS I AM (1950, February)

Just as I am; without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidd'st me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come!

Just as I am, and waiting not
To rid my soul of one dark blot,
To Thee whose blood can cleanse each spot,
O Lamb of God! I come, I come!

Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind,
Sight, riches, healing of the mind,
Yes, all I need, in Thee to find,
O Lamb of God! I come, I come!

Just as I am; Thou wilt receive,
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
Jesus, Thy promise I believe,
0 Lamb of God! I come, I come!


LEAD THOU ME ON (1953, July)

Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on;
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on;
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene, one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldest lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!

So long Thy pow'r has blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile!

—No. 685, The Good Old Songs.


LOOK UNTO JESUS (1957, June)

Look up, my soul, with cheerful eye;
See where the great Redeemer stands,
The glorious Advocate on high,
With precious incense in His hands.

He smiles on every humble groan,
He recommends each broken prayer;
Recline thy hope on Him alone,
Whose power and love forbid despair.

Teach my weak heart, 0 gracious Lord,
With stronger faith to call Thee mine;
Bid me pronounce the blissful word,
My Father God, with joy divine.

-No. 577, The Good Old Songs.


LOOK UP (1953, September & 1957, July)

Look up, my soul, with cheerful eye;
See where the great Redeemer stands,
The glorious Advocate on high,
With precious incense in His hands.

He smiles on every humble groan,
He recommends each broken prayer;
Recline thy hope on Him alone,
Whose power and love forbid despair.

Teach my weak heart, 0 gracious Lord,
With stronger faith to call Thee mine;
Bid me pronounce the blissful word,
My Father God, with joy divine.

—No. 577, Good Old Songs


LOVE THE LORD! (1950, October)

I love to see the Lord below,
His church displays His grace;
But upper worlds His glory know,
And view Him face to face.

I love to worship at His feet,
Though sin annoys me there;
But saints exalted near His seat
Have no assaults to fear.

I love to meet Him in His courts,
And taste His heav'nly love;
But still His visits seem too short,
Or I too soon remove.

0 Lord, I love Thy service now;
Thy church displays Thy pow'r;
But soon in heav'n I'll to Thee bow,
And praise Thee evermore.

—Good Old Songs, No. 371


LOVE! (1959, January)


I love Thy kingdom, Lord, The house of Thine abode;
The church our blest Redeemer saved with His own precious blood.

I love Thy church, 0 God, Her walls before Thee stand,
Dear as the apple of Thine eye, And graven on Thy hand.

For her my tears shall fall, For her my prayers ascend,
To her my cares and toils be giv'n till cares and toils shall end.

Beyond my highest joy I prize her heav'nly ways;
Her sweet communion, solemn vows, Her hymns of love and praise.

Jesus, Thou Friend divine, Our Saviour and our King,
Thy hand, from ev'ry snare and foe, Shall great deliv'rance bring.

Sure as Thy truth shall last, To Zion shall be giv'n
The brightest glories earth can yield, And brighter bliss of heav'n.

—No. 604, The Good Old Songs.


MIGHTY TO SAVE! (1952, July)

0, bliss of the purified! bliss of the free!
I'm plunged in the crimson tide opened for Me!
O'er sin and uncleanness exulting I stand,
And point to the print of the nails in His hand.

0, sing of His mighty love,
Sing of His mighty love,
Sing of His mighty love—mighty to save.

0; Jesus the crucified! Thee will I sing!
My blessed Redeemer! my God, and my King!
My soul filled with rapture shall shout o'er the grave,
And triumph in death in the MIGHTY TO SAVE!

—No. 131, The Good Old Songs


MY DESIRE (1952, May)

0, may I worthy prove to see
The saints in full prosperity;
Then my troubles will be over;
To see the bride, the glitt'ring bride,
Close seated by the Saviour's side;
Then my troubles will be over.

I shall never forget the day
When Jesus washed my sins away;
And then my troubles will be over,
Will be over, will be over, will be over,
And then my troubles will be over.

0 may I find some humble seat
Beneath my Redeemer's feet!
A servant, as before He's been,
I'll sing salvation to my King.

I'm glad that I am born to die;
From grief and woe my soul shall fly;
Bright angels shall convey me home,
Away to the new Jerusalem.

I'll praise Him while He gives me breath;
I hope to praise Him after death;
I hope to praise Him when I die,
And shout salvation as I fly.

Farewell, vain world, I'm going home;
My Jesus smiles and bids me come;
Sweet angels beckon me away,
To sing God's praise in endless day.

I soon shall pass the vale of death,
And in His arms resign my breath;
Oh! then my happy soul shall tell,
"My Jesus has done all things well."

I soon shall hear the awful sound,
"Awake, ye nations under ground!
Arise, and drop your dying shrouds,
And meet King Jesus in the clouds."

When to that blessed world I rise,
And join the anthems round the skies;
Of all the notes there this shall swell,
"My Jesus has done all things well."

Then shall I see my blessed God,
And praise Him in His bright abode;
My theme to all eternity
Shall glory, glory, glory be.

—No. 23, Good Old Songs.


MY FAITH LOOKS UP TO THEE! (1952, September)

My faith looks up to Thee,
Thou Lamb of Calvary,
Saviour divine!
Now hear me while I pray,
Take all my guilt away:
Oh, let me from this day,
Be wholly Thine.

May Thy rich grace impart
Strength to my fainting heart—
My zeal inspire.
As Thou hast died for me,
Oh, may my love to Thee
Pure, warm, and changeless be—
A living fire.

—No. 413, The Good Old Songs.


MY FATHER'S HOUSE (1950, July)

My Father's house on high
Is my eternal home;
0, God, forbid that I should sigh
While trav'ling here alone.

My Father and my God,
0 lead me safely on,
Till in that heav'nly world above
I feel my work is done.

Then join the heav'nly throng
To sing redeeming love;
While endless ages roll along
We'll praise our God above.

—The Good Old Songs, No. 405

My Thoughts

My Thoughts (1998, September - October)

When our days are most over
And all the grass and leaves are brown;
When we get the feeling,
that everybody has turned us down

When our thinking don't work
And our steps are so slow;
There's one place we're welcome
A place I love to go.

Where the friends of my Master
All gather around;
And meet each other
On one common ground. 

Listen to that sweet story
Of Salvation by grace,
That's never become old
In this long tedious race.

Sing that song
Come calm my mind,
And lots of others
That's not hard to find.

So when we give the parting hand
We hope to meet in a better land,
Where sighing and sorrow can never come
When we all reach that heavenly home.

Written April 4, 1989 by Addie Motsinger, Austin, IN.


NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE (1957, September)

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee;
E'en though it be a cross
That raiseth me;
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Though like a wanderer,
The Sun gone down,
Darkness be over me;
My rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I'd be
Nearer my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

There let the way appear
Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou sendest me
In mercy given;
Angels to beckon me
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Or if on joyful wing,
Cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upward I fly;
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

—No. 585, The Good Old Songs.


NOT WHAT I WOULD (1951, April)

When tempted sore to turn aside
As at some by-path I have stood
This thought has helped me to decide;
Not what I Would, but what I Should.
In daily life comes many a test
To those who purpose to be good;
To such this motto I suggest:
Not what I Would, but what I Should.
Life's little span by God is planned,
I would not change it if I could;
My course is guided by His hand;
Not what I Would, but what I Should.
"Not my will, Father, Thine be done,"
Said One who was supremely good;
Here's strength for those who evil shun;
Not what I Would, but what I Should.
If in my heart aught lurketh still
To keep from me Thy highest good,
Cleanse every thought, control my will,
'Till what I Should, is what I Would.

Selected from "La Tourneau Technical Institute," by Mrs. J. R. Harris.



What can wash away my stain?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

     Oh, precious is the flow
     That makes me white as snow;
     No other fount I know
     Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

For my cleansing this I see---
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
For my pardon this my plea---
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;

Nothing can for sin atone---
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
Naught of good that I have done—
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

This is all my hope and peace---
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
This is all my righteousness—
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

—No. 38, Apostolic Hymns.



I hope when my time comes to die
That my soul to heaven will fly.
Now I am growing old and gray
And I may pass away just any day.

I am now in my seventieth year,
Yet to me life is dear.
To me, my parents were good and kind—
Their good advice I'll keep in mind.

0! Lord, keep me from all evil ways—
This will be my prayer all my days.
If I could, I certainly would
Hold fast to everything that is good.

All you young people remember well
That the Bible says there is a hell.
The teachings of "No Hellers" do not take,
For the Bible says there's a burning lake.

Many old people are passing away---
This is happening every day.
I know the time is drawing nigh
When I, too, will have to die.

When I was young and in my prime
I thought I'd do better some other time;
Self righteousness I tried, but it wouldn't do.
Come tell me was it thus with you?

So let us all watch and pray
That we may never go astray;
For Satan works every hour
Seeking whom he may devour.

Farewell, my friends one and all—
Let us hope, when the Lord shall call,
That He will take us up above
Where all is joy, peace and love.

Composed and written by Fletcher Powers, March 27, 1934 —fourteen years before he passed away; and was found in a Primitive Baptist Elder's home after my father's death; which my father had given to him about a year before his death.

Cleveland, Va. 


OH, FOR A CLOSER WALK WITH GOD! (1951, November)

Oh, for a closer walk with God!
A calm and heavenly frame!
A light to shine upon the road
That leads me to the Lamb!

Where is the blessedness I knew
When first I saw the Lord?
Where is the soul-refreshing view
Of Jesus and His Word?

What peaceful hours I then enjoyed,
How sweet their memory still
But they have left an aching void
The world can never fill.

Return, 0 holy Dove, return.
Sweet messenger of rest!
I hate the sins that make me mourn,
And so disturb my rest.

The dearest idol I have known,
Whate'er that idol be,
Help me to tear it from its throne,
And worship only thee.

So shall my walk be close with God,
Calm and serene my frame;
So purer light shall mark the road
That leads me to the Lamb.

William Cowper, an English Poet and Song Writer, was born in 1731; died in 1800. He was not a minister, but he wrote ten hymns that are recognized by Primitive Baptists as being sound in sentiment, and suited to church worship. Oh, for a closer walk with God was written in 1772, based upon the following Scripture : "Enoch walked with God"—Ge 1:22.—Compiled by J. H. O'Neal, Atkins, Ark.



Just one more mile, dear brother,
The way is steep and rough;
God's helping hand, dear brother,
Will guide you o'er the top.

Keep pressing on-ward, brother,
Don't fall beside the way;
Put your trust in Jesus
He's with you every day.

Your valley's waiting, brother,
Prepared by God on high;
Keep trudging on-ward, brother,
You'll get there by and by.

Dear Jesus will be with you
From worldly pleasures flee;
His guiding 'hand will guide you
The Lord is calling thee.

Oh, brother, use your calling!
There's hungry souls to feed;
Don't ever hide your talent—
Oh, to thy God take heed.

Dear brother, watch your footsteps,
There's false friends everywhere;
They're always watching, waiting
To catch you in their snare.

Altho they can't condemn you
In God's Holy eye;
His eye is ever watching
Everyone both far and nigh.

You are so kind, dear brother,
How can they hurt you so;
Jesus is ever with you
What we see — we know.

Just be your humble, good self;
Let Jesus be your guide;
Then people cannot harm you,
When he is by your side.

We're thinking of you, brother,
In our hearts you'll always be:
Our gift from our heavenly Father.
Oh, people can't you see!

Please Jesus, watch o'er our brother,
Each day we try to pray;
Choose all his changes for him,
Be with him all the way.

And when life here is over,
Sorrows have all passed on;
Dear brother, Jesus will welcome you
In that bright home, sweet home.



PLEASE LET ME KNOW (1953, September)

Dear heavenly King, who reigns on high,
I come with tear dimmed eyes;
As in my hand I hold the Book,
And desire to in it look.

And as I read its sacred lines—
Desiring that my mind
Might comprehend or understand
The truths that's meant for man.

The wonderful truths therein contained;
The peace and comfort it brings;
The instructions, too, that is meant for thine
As I may read each line.

I realize well I can never know,
Unless thou art pleased to show
Or reveal to me by thy spirit divine,
The sweetness in these lines.

I set here now as poor as can be,
Longing thy face to see;
Longing, begging and pleading with thee
For their sweet liberty.

Please come, dear Lord, no longer wait,
For my poor heart does ache.
I want to read and see thy face,
And know what is my place.

Tallassee, Ala.

This morning, Sept. 4, 1953, I sat down to attempt to read the blessed Book. I so felt the need of His assistance that I might derive good therefrom I began to pray. My eyes over¬flowed with tears, and I felt impressed with these lines; which may be sung to a common meter or to the tune of No. 70 in The Good Old Songs.



Poor and afflicted, Lord, are Thine,
Among the great unfit to shine;
But tho' the world may think it strange,
They would not with the world exchange.

Poor and afflicted, yet they trust
In God, the gracious, wise and just;
For them He deigns this lot to choose,
Nor would they dare His will refuse.

Poor and afflicted oft they are,
Sorely oppressed with want and care,
Yet He who saves them by His blood,
Makes every sorrow yield them good.

Poor and afflicted—yet they sing,
For Christ, their glorious, conquering King,
Through sufferings perfect, reigns on high,
And does their every need supply.

Good Old Songs, No. 24.


POWER TO SAVE! (1949, November)

Dear dying Lamb! Thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power,
Till all the ransomed church of God
Are saved to sin no more.

When this poor, lisping, stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave,
Then in a nobler, sweeter song
I'll sing Thy power to save.

Lord, I believe Thou halt prepared
(Unworthy though I be)
For me a blood-bought free reward—
A golden harp for me.

'Tis strung and tuned for endless years
And formed by power divine,
To sound in God the Father's ears
No other name but Thine.

In heavenly strains, from every chord,
Shall flow the charming sound,
The praise of my redeeming Lord,
While angels wander round.

—Good Old Songs, No. 13



Ashamed of Jesus Christ our Lord;
Ashamed of His own precious Word;
Ashamed of Jesus' poverty,
To nave poor sinners just like me?

Ashamed of Jesus' life He lived;
Ashamed to own His Spirit gives;
Ashamed to own His sovereign grace,
And render Him thanks and praise?

Ashamed of Jesus' humble poor;
Ashamed to trust Him any more;
Ashamed to worship His own way,
And trust His mercy every day?

Ashamed of Jesus' church, and few;
Ashamed of His example, too;
Ashamed to fol'ow narrow way,
Which Jesus walked from day to day?

Ashamed of Jesus' holy name,
And reason that the Lord had come
To suffer on a rugged tree,
Upon the Cross of Calvary?

I wonder who will be ashamed
To own our blessed Saviour's name
When they meet Him on the shore,
To gather up His humble poor?

0 Lord, pray do not be shamed
To own this sinner, when Thou come;
But be my Saviour, Priest and King,
And grant thy peace to this poor thing!

Composed by Thos. F. Lewis, Box 55, Romney, W. Va. Sing slowly, softly, low and feelingly to the tune of Asleep in Jesus.



Gird thy loins up, Christian soldier;
Lo! thy Captain calls thee out;
Let the danger make thee bolder;
War in weakness, dare in doubt.
Buckle on thy heav'nly armor;
Patch up no inglorious peace;
Let thy courage wax the warmer,
As thy foes and fears increase.

Bind thy golden girdle round thee,
Truth to keep thee firm and tight;
Never shall the foe confound thee,
While the truth maintains thy fight.
Righteousness within thee rooted
May appear to take thy part;
But let righteousness imputed
Be the breastplate of thy heart.

Shod with gospel-preparation,
In the paths of promise tread;
Let the hope of free salvation,
As a helmet, guard thy head.
When beset with various evils,
Wield the Spirit's two-edged sword;
Cut thy way through hosts of devils,
While they fall before the Word.

—No. 638, The Good Old Songs.


REST FOR THE WEARY (1951, November)

In the Christian's home in glory
There remains a land of rest;
There my Saviour's gone before me
To prepare for me a rest.


There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for you.
On the other side of Jordan,
In the sweet fields of Eden,
Where the tree of life is blooming,
There, is rest for you.

He has fitted up my mansion,
Which eternally shall stand,
For my stay shall not be transient
In that holy, happy land.

No. 346 from the Good Old Songs.

Revive Thy Work

1951, January

Revive Thy work, 0 Lord!
Thy mighty arm make bare;
Speak with the voice that wakes the dead,
And make Thy people hear.

Revive Thy work, 0 Lord!
Disturb this sleep of death;
Quicken the smold'ring embers now,
By Thine almighty breath.

Revive Thy work, 0 Lord!
Exalt Thy precious name;
And, by the Holy Ghost, our love
For Thee and Thine inflame.

Revive Thy work, 0 Lord!
And give refreshing show'rs;
The glory shall be all Thine own,
The blessing, Lord! be ours.


SAVED BY GRACE (1957, August)

Saved, and saved alone by grace,
Saved to see my Saviour's face;
Saved from Satan's iron yoke,
And the law that I had broke.

Saved from sin, that hateful foe
That has millions plunged in woe,
Saved from all its reigning power;
Saved to serve my lusts no more.

Saved, nor can I be condemned;
Jesus Christ, the sinner's Friend,
Took my place and vengeance bore
Me to save for evermore.

Death, nor hell, nor world, nor sin,
Foes without, nor foes within,
Ever can my soul destroy;
I am saved eternally.

—No. 509, The Good Old Songs.


SAVIOUR OF MEN! (1949, September)

Saviour of men, and Lord of love,
How sweet Thy gracious name!
With joy that errand we review,
On which Thy mercy came;

While all Thy own angelic bands,
Stood waiting on the wing,
Charmed with the honor to obey
Their great, eternal King:

For us, mean, wretched, sinful men,
Thou laid'st that glory by,
First in our mortal flesh to serve,
Then in that flesh to die.

Bought with Thy service and Thy blood,
We doubly, Lord, are Thine;
To Thee our lives we would devote,
To Thee our death resign.

—The Good Old Songs, No. 375.


SOLID COMFORT (1957, June)

'Tis the Saviour that can give
Sweetest pleasures while we live;
'Tis the Saviour must supply
Solid comfort when we die.



Lord, 'tie a pleasant thing to stand
In gardens planted by Thy hand;
Let me within Thy courts be seen,
Like a young cedar, fresh and green.

There grow Thy saints in faith and love,
Blest with Thy influence from above;
Not Lebanon, with all its trees,
Yields such a comely sight as these.

The plants of grace shall ever live
(Nature decays, but grace must thrive),
Time, that doth all things else impair,
Still makes them flourish strong and fair.

Laden with fruits of age, they show
The Lord is holy, just and true;
None that attend His gates shall find
A God unfaithful or unkind.

—Selected by Mrs, Charles Steagall.
Box 705, Crandon, Wis.


STAR IN THE EAST (1953, November)

Hail the blest morn, see the great Mediator
Down from the regions of glory descend!
Shepherds, go worship the Babe in the manger,
Lo, for His guard the bright angels attend.

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning!
Dawn on our darkness, and lend us Thine aid;
Star in the east, the horizon adorning,
Guide where our infant Redeemer was laid.

Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are shining;
Low lies His bed, with the beasts of the stall;
Angels adore Him, in slumbers reclining,
Wise men and shepherds before Him do fall.

—No. 618, The Good Old Songs.



Our praying time will soon be o'er,


We'll join with those who're gone before,

Struggle on, struggle on,


Struggle on, for the work's most done,


To love and bless and praise the name,


Of Jesus Christ the bleeding Lamb,

Struggle on, struggle on,


Struggle on, for the work's most done,


—No. 278, The Good Old Songs.


SWEET FELLOWSHIP (1954, January)

0 happy time, long waited for,
The comfort of my heart,
Since I have met the saints once more,
May we in union part.

Temptations cease to break my peace,
And all my sorrows die;
When I with you my love renew,
0 what a heav'n have I.

My sorrows past, and I, at last,
Have heavenly comforts found;
My heart with Jesus and His saints
In sweetest union bound.

If fellowship with saints below,
Is to our souls so sweet,
What heavenly rapture shall we know
When round the throne we meet?

While here we sit and sing His love
With raptures so divine,
Our joys are more like their's above,
While in their songs we join.

Our hearts are filled with holy zeal,
We long to see the King;
We long to see those heavenly hills,
Where saints and angels sing.

—No. 494, The Good Old Songs.


SWEET HOME (1949, December)

'Mid scenes of confusion and creature complaints,
How sweet to my soul is communion with saints!
To find at the banquet of mercy there's room,
And feel in the presence of Jesus at home!

Home, home, sweet, sweet home,
Prepare me, dear Saviour, for glory, my home.

Sweet bonds that unite all the children of peace,
And thrice blessed Jesus, whose love cannot cease;
Though oft from Thy presence in sadness I roam,
I long to behold Thee in glory at home.

I sigh from this body of sin to be free,
Which hinders my joy and communion with Thee;
Though now my temptations like billows may foam,
All, all will be peace when I'm with Thee at home.

While here in the valley of conflict I stay,
0 give me submission and strength as my day;
In all my afflictions to Thee I would come,
Rejoicing in hope of my glorious home.

—Good Old Songs, No. 460.


 SWEET PROSPECTS (1952, January)

How tedious and tasteless the hours,
When Jesus no longer I see!
Sweet prospects, sweet birds, and sweet flowers
Have all lost their sweetness to me
The mid summer sun shines but dim
The fields all strive in vain to look gay,
But when I am happy in Him,
December's as pleasant as May.

His name yields the richest perfume,
And sweeter than music His voice;
His presence disperses my gloom,
And makes all within me rejoice:
I should were He always thus nigh,
Have nothing to wish or to fear;
No mortal so happy as I,
My summer would last all the year.

Content with beholding His face,
My all to His pleasure resigned,
No changes in seasons or place
Would make any change in my mind!
While blessed with a sense of His love,
A palace a toy would appear;
And prisons would palaces prove,
If Jesus would dwell with me there.

—The Good Old Songs, No. 303


TAKE HEED (1952, January)

Take ye heed, our Saviour said—
Take heed and watch and pray,
For many trials await us. here,
Therefore watch thou each day.

Love not the world nor things therein
For these will lead astray,
But take His yoke and lean on Him,
And He will guide thy way.

Have fervent charity among yourselves—
Above all things have this;
Have we observed this command?
Or, have we gone amiss.

"Observe all things" our Saviour said,
And, "be ye kind," is taught,
And pray each day, "Thy will be done,"
Then wonders would be wrought.

How much we need to watch ourselves—
Our evil carnal minds.
Ah, yes 'tis here much trouble lies—
We forget the: "Be ye kind."

Lena De Jarnette
Marvell, Ark.
Sunday, May 14, 1950


Thanksgiving (2002, May - June)

I have never known how to be thankful,
For the blessings that have been mine.
All the years that I have lived
God has let His love on me shine.

But this year at Thanksgiving,
My heart does surely overflow,
God has been so good to me
I'll never-ever-from Him go.

His will I'll seek, so long as I live,
And my best to Him, each day, try to give.
I know His way is always right,
May He help me to serve Him with all my might.

May I ever thank Him, praise and adore
And live a Godly life as never before.
I thank Him for food, for shelter too,
For each natural blessing, and the rainbow's hue.

But most of all I thank Him for His presence sweet,
For His dear saints, whom I love to meet,
For faith and strength to look up each day,
For the blessed privilege of trying to pray.

I thank Him for being blessed
To hear His sweet gospel and in it find rest.
I thank Him for peace in my soul so sweet.
There is nothing on earth that peace can't exceed.

I thank Him for wisdom, understanding too,
Without His spirit to lead me, I know not what to do.
Without His leadership, oh where would I go,
But down, down, each day to misery and woe.

I have tried the ways of sin.
I never want to travel that way again.
But want to live in honor to God,
And in the footprints of Jesus trod.

Ever be thankful for the breath I breathe,
And never my sisters and brethren deceive.
Be thankful to God He loved a sinner like me.
And gave His Son to bleed and die on the tree.

Thankful for the church where we're blessed to meet,
To sing songs of praise and wash the saint's feet,
To hear the gospel in its purity proclaimed,
By those He has called to bear His name.

Be thankful He has humbled us, if it takes the rod,
To make us walk, in a way pleasing to God.
Oh, that I might find words that could convey,
The thanks I owe Him on this Thanksgiving Day.

Emma Pirkle, 1970


THE BIBLE WAY (1949, October)

Here are some things I surely believe,
And recommend all others to receive;
That God's inspired Word is steadfast and true,
Made every thing plain in all we should do!

The God-head is one, consisting of three,
The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, you see.
Christ is the foundation of Heaven's plan,
Devised for the sure salvation of man.

That men are all so hopelessly depraved,
That none can but by sovereign grace be saved;
That none but Converts first evangelized,
Have any Scriptural right to be baptized.

That baptism is immersion—why doubt
It's into the water, then straight out.
That the Lord's Supper, as the Scripture saith,
Was meant but to commemorate His death.

None but those buried with Christ—all should know
Can their Lord's death symbolically show.
To make our calling and election sure,
Be faithful and unto the end endure!

And all who do, where'er their lot be east,
They will be carried to heaven at last.
In the New Testament, the pattern's found,
No other way to build on solid ground.

So then we should all be truly aware,
And build only by the pattern four square.
The Primitive Church is the Old School Baptists,
Who will not compromise nor God's Word wrest.

I am with them to live, also to die;
And in glory, live with them on high.
They can call us Hardshells or any name,
We do not fret, we do not chide, Christ bore the same!

J. F. Howell.
Oakboro, N. C.


THE BLEST (1957, December)

Blest are the humble souls that see
Their emptiness and poverty;
Treasures of grace to them are giv'n.
And crowns of joy laid up in heav'n.

Blest are the men of broken heart,
Who mourn for sin with inward smart;
The blood of Christ divinely flows,
A healing balm for all their woes.

Blest are the meek, who stand afar
From rage and passion, noise and war;
God will secure their happy state,
And plead their cause against the great.

Blest are the souls that thirst for grace,
Hunger and long for righteousness,
They shall be well supplied and fed
With living streams and living bread.

Blest are the pure, whose hearts are clean
From the defiling power of sin;
With endless pleasure they shall see
A God of spotless purity.

Blest are the men of peaceful life,
Who quench the coals of growing strife,
They shall be called the heirs of bliss,
The sons of God, the God of peace.

Blest are the sufferers who partake
Of pain and shame for Jesus' sake;
Their souls shall triumph in the Lord,
Glory and joy are their reward.

—No. 322, The Good Old Songs.


THE CHARTED ROAD (1950, November)

Christians on life's journey bearing the earthly load;
From the upper planes the Great Unseen keeps His eye on a charted road.
Call it fate or predestination or whatever name you choose,
We're kept by the mystic cord of love, our way we cannot lose.

In faith, fully trusting in Him with guidance secure,
Our hand firmly clasped in the Master's, our call and election sure.
There is no chance in His system, from beginning He knew the end,
"It is not in man to direct his steps"—this truth in His word is penned.

The natural man can't receive it—he wants a part in the plan,
God fashioned the world out of chaos, prepared and perfected for man.
'Twas God alone who created, He is able to govern alone,
And the charted road of the Master will lead our feet to the throne.

Mrs. Elizabeth T. Eaton
Nashville, Tenn.



I worshipped today at the church, Mother.
The church where we all used to go.
'Tis the mose sacred spot on this earth, Mother;
For God blessed His dwelling I know.
The room was so humble and plain, Mother;
The roof and the spire seemed so low,
But the God whom we worship today, Mother,
Is the Lord of the long, long ago!

I looked at the crowds as they came, Mother.
I watched from my place by the door;
It all is so different now, Mother,
From the old fashioned meetings of yore ;
For nothing's the same as it was, Mother---
The whole world has changed, as you know;
But the Christ whom we reverenced today, Mother,
Is the Saviour of the long, long ago!

The preacher has altered his coat, Mother.
The people have altered their ways.
The songs they are singing today, Mother,
Are from a new hymnal of praise ;
But I listened to him as he read, Mother,
From the Book where God's messages glow
And the gospel they're preaching today, Mother,
Is the one we obeyed long ago!

Then come, let us sing once again, Mother ;
Of the God whom our forefathers knew;
Of the Christ who has saved us from sin, Mother ;
Of the gospel that carried us through
And when this old church that we love, Mother,
Our presence no longer shall know
We'll ascend to the mansions above, Mother
(we hope),
From the Church of the long, long ago!

Tune: "When You and I were Young, Maggie." Copied from the Rodeheaver Hymnal; author unknown, but words fit most any Old Baptist Church. To anyone past sixty, go back to your old Home Church, after a long absence, and see how many familiar faces you find. Then pass through the cemetery and find, their names, you will agree with the above; and, also; these immoral words:

Some are in the church yard laid
Some sleep across the sea---
But FEW of our old friends are left
Excepting YOU and ME.

Brooks Bradley.
Columbia, Mo.

The Difference

The Difference (1995, September - October)

I got up early one morning
And rushed right into the day;
I had so much to accomplish
That I didn't have time to pray.
Problems just tumbled about me,
And heavier came each task;
"Why doesn't God help me?"
I wondered
He answered, "You didn't ask."
I wanted to see joy and beauty,
But the day toiled on gray and bleak;
I wondered why God didn't show me.
He said, "But you didn't seek."
I tried to come into God's presence;
I used all my keys at the lock.
God gently and lovingly chided,
"My child, you didn't knock"
I woke up early this morning,
And paused before entering the day;
I had so much to accomplish
That I had to take time to pray.

Autor Unknown
Sent in by Eld. Kenneth Clevenger


THE FAITHFUL (1950, November)

The faithful of the Lamb of God,
Who walk in the path our fathers trod—
Those who have stayed within the fold,—
Are far more precious than pure gold.

The saddened by the cares of time,
Like saints of old their faces shine;
Their beauty comes from deep within,
'Tis never marred by love of sin.

Worldly pleasures they pass by.
Their pleasure comes from up on high.
The world will scorn these faithful few,
But, then, they scorned the Saviour, too!

These faithful ones have fought for truth,
Both in old age and in their youth;
They dare heat and cold and pain,
Thank God they never fight in vain!

Mrs. Alice Strunk
1211 N. 10th St.
Garden City, Kansas


THE HAPPY MAN (1952, June)

Ps 1.

How happy is the man who has chosen wisdom's ways
And has measured out his span to his God in prayer and praise!
His God and his Bible are all that he desires;
To holiness of heart he continually aspires,
In poverty he's happy, for he knows he has a Friend
Who never will forsake him, and on whom he can depend.

He rises in the morning, with the lark he tunes his lays,
And offers up his tribute to his God in prayer and praise;
And then unto his labors he cheerfully repairs,
In confidence believing that his God will hear his prayers.
Whatever he engages in at home or abroad,
His object is to honor and to glorify his God.

In sickness, pain and sorrow, he never will repine,
While he is drawing nourishment from Christ, the Living Vine,
When trouble presses heavily he leans on Jesus' breast,
And in His precious promises he finds a quiet rest.
The yoke of Christ is easy, and His burden always light;
He tires nor is weary till Canaan is in sight.

'Tis thus you have his history through life from day to day.
Religion, though a mystery, is yet a beaten way,
And when upon his pillow he lays him down to die,
In hope he rejoices, for he knows his God is nigh.
And when life's lamp is flickering, his soul, on wings of love,
Flies away to realms of glory to dwell with Christ above.

And now his spirit's happy; he's joined the holy band,
With a crown of glory on his head, and a harp within his hand,
With saints and priests and prophets he strikes the golden lyre,
And shouts Hallelujah with all the heavenly choir.
He's happy now eternally, his joys are all complete;
With angels he is bowing around the Saviour's feet.

(Written by Nannie Sharman, in 1850, at Mechanicsville, Chambers County, Alabama.)
Copied from The Gospel Messenger, April, 1910.



Blest are the souls that hear and know
The gospel's joyful sound;
Peace shall attend the paths they go,
And light their steps surround.

Their joy shall bear their spirits up
Through their Redeemer's name;
His righteousness exalts their hope,
Nor Satan dares condemn.

The Lord, our glory and defense,
Strength and salvation gives;
Israel, thy King forever reigns,
Thy God forever lives.

—No, 758, The Good Old Songs.



Thus was the great Redeemer plunged
In Jordan's swelling flood,
To show He must be soon baptized
In tears, in sweat, in blood.

Thus was His sacred body laid
Beneath the yielding 'wave,
Thus was His sacred body raised,
Out of the liquid grave.

Lord, we Thy precepts would obey,
In Thy own footsteps tread,
Would die, be buried, rise with Thee,
Our ever living Head.

-- Good Old Songs No. 543.



When you feel that you cannot bear
Another moment of despair,
Sit quietly and fold your hands;
The Saviour knows and understands!

When your tears have all been shed,
Remember the cross where He suffered and bled;
He paid the price, despising the shame,
And gave us the free gift without blame.

Unfold your hands and lift your head,
For, if by the Spirit of God ye are led,
Your dry eyes will again begin to flow
Tears of joy as you behold the heavenly glow!

Mattawan, Mich.


THERE ARE TIMES (1954, February)

There are times I'd like to write
Something beautiful and bright;
Making those who read feel glad,
Cheering poor souls who are sad.

Could I but my thoughts outpour
When my mind doth seem to soar
Far above all earthly things
And my heart feels glad and sings.

Buoyed up into the skies
Visible—but not with eyes---
Are the beauties, Oh, how sweet!
But I'm soon dropped to my feet.

If I only could but stay
In this realm of cloudless day!
But as long as time shall be
Tears shall be as well as glee.

—Alma Henderson; Enterprise, Ala.

This God Gives To Me

This God Gives To Me (1995, September - October)

He gives me strength and courage
When failure comes my way.
He is my inspiration
To face each newborn day.
He comforts and sustains me
When efforts seem in vain.
He is my consolation
In times of grief and pain.
He is my friend when others
Refuse to lend an ear,
And in my hours of lonliness
I know that He is near.
He never will forsake me
Imperfect though I be,
For with my many faults and sins
I know that He loves me.

Harold F. Mohn


THY BLOOD, DEAR JESUS! (1953, November)

How shall the sons of men appear,
Great God, before Thine awful bar,
How may the guilty hope to find
Acceptance with th' Eternal mind?

Not vows, nor groans, nor broken cries,
Not the most costly sacrifice,
Not infant blood profusely spilt,
Will expiate the sinner's guilt.

Thy blood, dear Jesus, Thine alone,
Hath sovereign virtue to atone;
Here we will rest our only plea,
When we approach, great God, to Thee.

—No. 583, The Good Old Songs.


"TIS HEAVEN ON EARTH (1952, November)

Our souls by love together knit,
Cemented, mixed in one;
One hope, one heart, one mind, one voice;
'Tis heaven on earth begun.

We're soldiers fighting for our God,
Let trembling cowards fly;
We stand unshaken, firm and fixed,
With Christ to live or die.

And when Thou mak'st thy jewels up,
And sett'st Thy starry crown,
Where all Thy sparkling gems shall shine,
Proclaimed by Thee Thine own:

May we, a little band of love,
Be sinners saved by grace;
For glory into glory changed,
Behold Thee face to face.

—No. 89, The Good Old Songs.



Ye servants of the Lord,
Each in his office wait;
With joy obey His heav'nly word,
And watch before His gate,

Let all your lamps be bright,
And trim the golden flame;
Gird up your loins as in His sight,
For awful is His name.

Watch,—'tis your Lord's command,
And while we speak He's near;
Mark ev'ry signal of His hand,
And ready all appear.

0 happy servant he,
In such a posture found!
He shall his Lord with rapture see,
And be with honor crowned,

--No. 301, Good Old Songs.


WHAT A FRIEND WE HAVE! (1951, April)

What a Friend we have in Jesus,
All our sins and griefs to bear;
What a privilege to carry
Ev'rything to God in prayer.
0, what peace we often forfeit,
0, what needless pain we bear,
All because we do not carry
Ev'rything to God in prayer.

Have we trials and temptations?
Is there trouble anywhere?
We should never be discouraged,
Take it to the Lord in prayer.
Can we find a friend so faithful,
Who will all our sorrows share?
Jesus knows our ev'ry weakness:
Take it to the Lord in prayer.

Are we weak and heavy laden,
Cumbered with a load of care?
Precious Saviour, still our refuge,—
Take it to the Lord in prayer.
Do thy friends despise, forsake thee?
Take it to the Lord in prayer;
In His arms He'll take and shield thee,
Thou wilt find a solace there.


WHO IS HE? (1952, February)

Who is this that comes from far,
With His garments dipped in blood,
Strong, triumphant traveler---
Is He man or is He God?
I that reign in righteousness,
Son of God and man I am;
Mighty to redeem your race,
Jesus is your Saviour's name.

"Wide, ye heavenly gates, unfold,
Closed no more by death and sin;
Lo, the conquering Lord behold;
Let the King of glory in,"
Hark, th' angelic host inquire,
"Who is He, th' almighty King?"
Hark again, the answering choir
Thus in strains of triumph sing

-No. 59, Good Old Songs.


YE JEWELS OF MY MASTER (1950, October)

Ye jewels of my Master,
Who shine with heavenly rays,
Amidst the beams of glory
Reflect immortal blaze.
Ye diamonds of beauty,
With pleasing lustre crown'd,
Of heavenly extraction,
To Zion's city bound.

Ye lambs of my Redeemer,
The purchase of His blood,
Who feed among the lilies,
Beside the purple flood;
Go on, ye happy pilgrims,
Your journey still pursue,
And at an humble distance
I'll sing and follow too.

Speak often to each other,
To cheer the fainting mind.
And often be your voices
In pure devotion join'd:
Though trials may await you,
The crown before you lies;
Take courage, brother pilgrims,
And soon you'll win the prize.

—Zion's Songster, No. 207.


ZION BLESSED (1950, August)

Zion's a city God hath blessed
With peace and everlasting rest;
A glorious city, strong and fair;
And Jesus dwells forever there.

Her ancient walls appear to be
The workmanship of Diety;
Founded in grace, they still appear
Without a flaw or chasm there.

Oft has this city's strength been tried,
By mighty foes on every side;
But all in vain it yet has been,
She baffles Satan, hell, and sin.

Count ye her towers, how high they rise,
Her golden spires, they pierce the skies!
Her golden streets are fair to view;
Her palaces and bulwarks, too.

Then round her walk, her turrets tell;
Mark all her brazen bulwarks well;
Spread far and wide her deathless fame,
Her pearly gates and walls of flame.

Her founder's love has ever proved
Like Salem's mount, which ne'er was moved;
'Tis fixed on this eternal base,
The grace of God, and gift by grace.

—Good Old Songs, No. 723