Sure the record; Christ has died,
Bearing on the cross our sin;
Is not this the gate of life?
Son of Adam, enter in!
Sure the record; Christ is risen,
He hath broken every chain:
Silent stands the empty tomb,
Never to be filled again.
Sure the promise; Christ will come,
Though the promise lingers still;
Heavy seems the wing of time,
Weary with the weight of ill.
Signs are mustering everywhere,
And the world is growing old;
Love is low and faith is dull,
Truth and right are bought, and sold!
Then when men are heedless grown,
And the virgins slumber all,
When iniquity abounds,
Then He cometh, Judge of all!
Cometh He to raise His own
Wipe the tear from every eye;
Cometh He to right the wrong.
Trodden truth to lift on high.
To dethrone the lie of lies,
Each dark falsehood to destroy;
To begin the age of light,
Earth's long sighed-for Sabbath-joy.
THE SUPPER AND THE ADVENT
Till He come we own His name,
Round His table gathering;
One in love and faith and hope,
Waiting for an absent King.
Blessed table, where the Lord
Sets for us His choicest cheer;
Angels have no feast like this,
Angels wait, but sit not here.
Till He come we eat this bread,
Seated round this heaven-spread board;
Till He come we meet and feast,
In remembrance of the Lord.
In the banquet house of love,
In the Bridegroom's garden fair;
Thus we sit and feast and praise,—
Angels look, but cannot share.