p. 4 | MY CHOSEN FRIENDS by C. M. Snow

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jan 27, 1898

MY CHOSEN FRIENDS.

By C. M. Snow

I have heard one speak of the wish to greet On that glorious, golden strand, The loving friends, the “chosen friends,” He had found in this pilgrim land; And there with these through the glorious days In the city of God above He would wend his way by the River of Life, And live in their smiles of love.

But a pitiful face is turned to me As I read that wish again, And the thought comes to me o’er and o’er, “Christ died for sinful men;” And now I wonder who’ll look for them When the gates are opened wide, And some we’ve shunned, who’ve fallen low, Are found on the inner side.

I see the Saviour reach far down From His glorious throne above, And lift the fallen tenderly In His gracious arms of love. It mattered not to the Shepherd kind What bramble tore the feet; How low soe’er the fallen were, His pardon was complete.

And that’s the face I long to see, The face of the lost redeemed; For I’ll see it again as I saw it when That mortal learned of God’s love to men, And that wondrous love through His face outstreamed And told me that he was free.

Come view with me that mighty throng That sweeps the eternal shores along, And learn the joy they only know Whom Christ has raised from the depths of wo. In that vast throng my place must be Should the gates of God swing wide for me.

My “chosen friends” I’ll gladly greet, But the face I’ll choose to see Is the face that bled from the thorny crown When Christ was slain for me. And, O, the hand I shall choose to clasp When the gates are opened wide, Is the hand that hung from the cruel nail When man’s Redeemer died!

Then seek who will for your “chosen friends,” And find them ye who may: I’ll seek for Him who purchased me, In that glorious, gladsome day; And methinks I’ll frequent find Him there, As I’ve found Him here below, In those bereft of “chosen friends” While sinking in their wo. These, these are they whom I’ll choose to see When the gates of God swing wide for me.

C. M. Snow.

Oakland, Cal.