"Until He Come"

"For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do show the Lord's death until He come." 1 Cor. 11:26.

Thy Death, Lord Jesus, death wherein we died:
This Jordan saw Thee; vanished at Thy voice. Thou,
Ruler o'er the judgment's harvest tide,
Hast brought us where we now with Thee rejoice.

Man hears not, sees not; though Thy Death we show:
Apart, Thou stayest us with bread and wine,
Thy many angels, watching, long to know
The marvels of Thy greeting us as Thine.

We show Thy Death, Thy name is shed abroad,
No speech nor language could Thy glories tell;
Sent of the Father, Thou, O Son of God!
Hast glorified Him here, and vanquished hell.

Sent forth, Thou camest, Lord, of woman born,
And, under law none else had honoured, made
Last Adam - second Man - Thou, Seed of Corn,
Would'st Die, alone, would'st in the ground be laid.

Seed sown in tears, God's waterfloods arose;
Went, in His wrath, His terrors, over Thee.
God, scorning all the raging of Thy foes,
Alone creator of Thy Death must be.

Thou could'st endure the malefactor's place,
Thy friend's desertion, Thy betrayer's kiss;
Thou could'st endure the hiding of His face,
Whose love, Thy due, sought from Thee even this.

Thou in Thine agony wert stretched, alone,
Earth shook, with mantling horror overspread.
The Spirit wrote, for us in light, the groan
Thou gavest forth in bowing there Thy head.

Brought low - God's chosen One - beneath the knife,
Without assuagement, far from Thy redress;
Exalted, crowned now, O Prince of Life!
Adoring Thee, Thy Father's name we bless.

His will, His pleasure, ever was Thy joy,
Him to declare, Thy service, Thy delight.
One with Thee, part have we in Thine employ,
Part in Thy glory, where shall be no night.

And if a little while Thou bidst us stay
Where Thou hast set Thine own, whom Thou dost love,
What sweetness in thus learning to obey,
Communing with Thee where Thou art, above.

Until Thy voice for us the clouds shall part,
Until we meet Thee, Saviour, in the air,
Until we see Thee, even as Thou art,
Thy cup of blessing, here on earth, we share.

What can earth show us, but Thy Death, Thy tomb?
What but Thy Death have we on earth to show?
Sin-wasted scene, that found for Thee "no room,"
World that usurps Thy rights, that wrought Thy woe.

* * * * *
Thy death, O Lamb of God! the fount of song!
Deep basis of all triumph and all peace;
Thine enemies were myriads, and strong,
Thou, only Victor, makest wars to cease.

Thou unto us art over all things, Head.
Robed in Thy perfect likeness we shall be.
Come! Thou who livest, Thou who hast been dead,
All things, made new, shall ever worship THEE. H. K. B. E. June, 1873.