“Christ loved the Church,” and in His love
Did for her die, that she above
Might be the partner of His throne.
But she is not the fruit alone
That from the “Corn of Wheat” doth grow,
Which He on Calvary did sow.
Think of the souls before the flood
Who trusted in the Living God—
Of Abram and the saints of old
Who died in faith, as we are told—
Of Israel’s thousands who foresaw
The End of all their shadowing law—
Of nations, tribes, and kindreds who
Have lived and died and never knew
Of Revelation’s glorious light,
With whom the Judge shall do the right.
And death takes half our race away
In infancy and childhood’s day;
These, through th’ Atoning work, are His
Who said, “Of such the kingdom is.”
Then let our minds reach on before,
Till times of tribulation sore
Shall overtake the sons of men,
And see the grace of God e’en then
In sealing thousands as His own;
Then, turn with John to yonder throne—
See gathered there from every land
That countless, white-robed, praising band,
Who, in the Tribulation great,
For God and Truth their lives did hate.
Then think of the millennial bliss,
When Christ shall reign in righteousness;
A thousand years of peace sublime
Shall be enjoyed in every clime,
When, on the merits of His blood
He shall the whole creation flood
With waves of blessing, rich and free,
For He shall reign from sea to sea;
And then, as now, for every breath
All shall be debtors to His death.
When heaven and earth have passed away,
And all is one eternal day—
When gathered is that myriad throng,
Who through the cross to Christ belong,
From Adam to the latest one
Who’ll trust the work that He hath done,
“The travail of His soul” He’ll see,
And satisfied His heart shall be.
The cherubim of dreadful ire,
The seraphim of Mercy’s fire,
All angels, the Archangel too,
Shall reap eternal blessing through
The death of Christ. For while therein
They see God’s estimate of sin
And fear, they also there can see
His love revealed beyond degree;
Which firmer confidence inspires,
And tunes all heaven’s unceasing Iyres,
In loftier strains than e’er before,
To swell His praise for evermore.
The Father who receives the lost,
The Son who paid in blood the cost,
The Holy Spirit of all grace,
Who leads us to our resting-place—
The great eternal, triune God,
The Source from whom Life’s river flowed,
The Goal to which its course doth tend—
Beginner of all things and End,
Finds in th’ Atonement such a rest
As seraph tongues have ne’er expressed.
God’s perfect bliss shall ever be
Around His shining throne to see
That countless ransomed company—
Sinless to all eternity.
To all creation—land and sea—
Each blade of grass, each flower and tree,
To fish and reptile, fowl and beast,
And to mankind (deserving least)
Each dawning day fresh blessing brings
On aye-enduring Mercy’s wings;
And every drop of dew and rain,
And ray of light and sheaf of grain,
And universal blessing giv’n
To guilty man by gracious Heaven,
And all the pleasant things of earth,
Proclaim the great Atonement’s worth.
But for th’ Atonement who can tell
Why earth is favored more than hell—
Why fallen man such good receives,
While fallen angels nought relieves?
These blood-bought blessings are no more
Than earnests of what lies before.
Creation now sin’s bondage owns,
But, hopeful for redemption, groans,
And waits the time of joy and peace,
When sin and sorrow all shall cease.
To earth O what a joyful day!
The long-felt curse shall flee away,
And all creation, free, shall raise
One universal shout of praise.
If, at the judgment, it were seen
That all are saved who could have been—
That, to the lost, God’s offered Lamb
Was but a mockery and sham,
Which they were blinded to refuse,
His scant provision to excuse,
‘Twould lighten up hell’s gloomy plains
And turn to pleasure all its pains;
And those who into it were driven
Would not desire a place in heav’n,
While even there the favored few
Their pre-determined choice would rue.
But like the cloud, to Israel light,
And to th’ Egyptians worse than night,
The cross shall ever stand between
The upper and the nether scene;
The light of where the ransom’d dwell—
The deepest, darkest shade of hell.
A Poem by William Blane