ALL the people were assembled;
They had bowed in prayer and praise;
From the desk the glorious gospel
Had been preached for many days.
Still no broken-voiced confession
Made lament of want and sin;
Still no heavenly inspiration
Swept celestial melting in.
And apart, alone and weeping,
Knelt the minister in prayer,
And before the Lord presented
All his load of grief and care.
Wept before the tender Shepherd,
“All thy sheep are still afar,
Oh! they do not see thy goodness,
Nor how weak and vile they are.”
Then he sought for power and unction,
Sought for grace their hearts to win.
Should he point out all their weakness?
Show their doubt, and chide their sin?
What could help them? He bowed weeping,
Melted by his own desire.
Then there came this heavenly message,
“Lift up Christ a little higher.”
Glad, he hasted to the people,
And from out his heart the grace
Of God’s light and love were shining,
Making beautiful his face.
And his words revealed the Saviour
As the One of their desire;
And his tongue was like an angel’s,
Lifting Christ, the Saviour, higher.
Oh, the wonders of the Matchless!
Oh, the light of the Divine!
How Christ’s light revealed men’s errors!
How his glorious love did shine!
At the cross they bowed, adoring;
Came the Spirit’s melting fire,
Swept men’s hearts with love and rapture,
As he lifted Jesus higher.
Then came broken-voiced confession;
Then came praise that all their sin
Was made white in Calvary’s fountain;
Then came God’s love flooding in,
Till, like Pentecostal showers,
Wave on wave of glory swept,
Love bowed hearts in Love’s own mystery,
And men prayed, and praised, and wept.
And the minister rose, humbled,
As he saw the Saviour’s might;
Told the people of his anguish
And his sorrow all the night;
Told them how he thought to point them
To their blemishes and sins,
But his voice broke, “Oh! my brethren,
’Tis the Saviour’s love that wins.”
And the praise of God swept upward
In a solemn, glad “Amen!”
And no tongue can tell the melting
That swept through the assembly then.
Oh! when hearts seem cold and hardened,
And untouched by high desire,
Then there’s need, O sorrowing toiler,
Need of lifting Jesus higher.