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EMMANUEL'S LAND

Deut. viii. 7-10.

               The land! the glory of all lands,
                    Beyond the Jordan's wave;
                                    Beyond the weary desert sands--
                    The land beyond the grave!
                                    Now safe witin that glorious land,
                    We prove His faithful Word;
                                    'Midst Canaan's golden fields we stand,
                    The ransomed of the Lord.
                                    
               Amidst the burning desert drought
                    We learnt His watchful love;
                                    Streams from the flinty rocks He brought,
                    Sent bread from Heaven above.
                                    Our God in weariness and need,
                    His love was measured there
                                    By hunger which His hand would feed,
                    Wants answered by His care.
                                    
               Now know we in Emmanuel's land
                    Immeasurable grace;
                                    No longer looking to His Hand,
                    But gazing on His Face.
                                    Our need, ourselves, forgotten there,
                    Himself our hearts adore;
                                    The fulness of His joy we share,
                    His pleasures evermore:
                                    
               His joy fulfilled in us who tread
                    That land His love has given;
                                    We followed where His footsteps led,
                    And found ourselves in Heaven.
                                    No lower resting-place beseemed
                    The well-beloved Son,
                                    And on our wondering eyes has beamed
                    The glory that He won.
                                    
               No lower resting-place; and we--
                    Are we content to stand
                                    And look afar from Pisgah's heights
                    Upon that goodly land?
                                    There, where the Shepherd goes before,
                    The sheep must follow on:
                                    How green, how fresh the pastures fair
                    Where Christ the Lord is gone!
                                    
               One spirit with our glorious Lord,
                    Our joy to Him is sweet,
                                    As to His heart the love that poured
                    The ointment on His feet.
                                    How dear to Him the fellowship
                    That owned Him in the tomb--
                                    How dear to Him the fellowship
                    That shares His blessed Home!
                                    
               That shares in glory, far above
                    The waste so dark and dim,
                                    The sweetness of the Father's love
                    In unison with Him.
                                    In Him we tread those radiant heights,
                    His endless joy our own;
                                    The full deep tide of God's delights
                    He would not drink alone.
                                    

P. G.


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