Israel in ancient days,
Not only had a view
Of Sinai in a blaze,
But learned the gospel too:
For mercies, countless as the sands,
Which daily I receive
From Jesus, my Redeemer's hands,
Honey though the bee prepares,
An envenomed sting he wears;
Piercing thorns a guard compose
Round the fragrant blooming rose.
A Garden contemplation suits,
And may instruction yield,
Sweeter than all the flow'rs and fruits
With which the spot is filled.
How sweet the name of Jesus sounds
In a believer's ear?
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,
And drives away his fear.
'Tis a point I long to know,
Oft it causes anxious thought;
Do I love the Lord, or no?
Am I his, or am I not?
Beside the gospel pool
Appointed for the poor;
From year to year, my helpless soul
Has waited for a cure.
See Aaron, God's anointed priest,
Within the veil appear;
In robes of mystic meaning dressed,
Presenting Israel's prayer.
By the poor widow's oil and meal
Elijah was sustained;
Though small the stock it lasted well,
For God the store maintained.