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THE GREAT HIGH PRIEST

Heb. vii. 24, 25.

          Sweet to trace His toiling footsteps
               Here amidst the desert sands;
          Bear in memory all His sorrow,
               Thorn-clad head and pierced hands!
          Learn His love beside the manger,
               Learn it on the stormy wave,
          By the well, and in the garden--
               Learn it by the Cross and grave.
          
          Yet not only in remembrance
               Do we watch that stream of love--
          Still a mighty torrent flowing
               From the throne of God above.
          Still a treasure all uncounted--
               Still a story half untold--
          Unexhausted and unfathomed,
               Fresh as in the days of old.
          
          Christ at God's right hand unwearied
               By our tale of shame and sin,
          Day by day, and hour by hour,
               Welcoming each wanderer in;
          On His heart amidst the glory,
               Bearing all our grief and care;
          Every burden, ere we feel it,
               Weighed and measured in His prayer.
          
          Fragrant thus with priestly incense
               Each distress, each sorrow tells
          Thoughts that fill the heart of Jesus
               In the glory where He dwells.
          All His love, His joy, His glory,
               By His Spirit here made known,
          Whilst that Spirit speaks the sorrows
               Of His saints before the throne.
          
          He, of old the Man of Sorrows,
               Pleads before the Father's face,
          Knowing all the needed solace,
               Claiming all the needed grace.
          We, so faithless and so weary,
               Serving with impatient will--
          He unwearied in our service,
               Gladly ministering still.
          
          Girded with the golden girdle,
               Shining as the mighty sun,
          Still His piercèd hands will finish
               All His work of love begun.
          On the night of His betrayal,
               In the glory of the throne,
          Still with faithful patience washing
               All defilement from His own.
          
          When the Father's house resoundeth
               With the music and the song;
          When the bride in glorious raiment
               Sees the One who loved so long;
          Then for new and blessed service
               Girt afresh will He appear,
          Stand and serve before His angels
               Those who waited for Him here.
          
          He who led them through the desert,
               Watched and guided day by day,
          Turned the flinty rocks to water,
               Made them brooks beside the way--
          He will bring them where the fountains
               Fresh and full spring forth above,
          Still throughout the endless ages
               Serving in the joy of love.

T. P.


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