Christ the Theme of Song in All Ages

Oh

end­less theme of ne’er ceas­ing song

And mu­sic

wak­ened by su­prem­est love!

How hath it broke from fee­ble lips and strong

The pow­er di­vine

and match­less grace to prove.

Christ

Son of God

and Christ

Son of man;

Christ on the cross

and Christ in king­ly reign.

So thro’ the ag­es

since the song be­gan

With swell­ing hosts the saints re­peat the strain.

On hills and plains the Is­ra­el­ite on­ly knew

On class­ic soil

on drift­ing de­sert sand

Where’er the Ro­man ea­gles swift­ly flew

Or roamed abroad the fierce un­go­verned band.

’Mong Jew and Gen­tile

as in wan­der­ing horde

Barbarian

Scyth­ian

all

the bond or free—

There were who watched and wait­ed for the Lord

And some who did His migh­ty won­ders see.

How far from the warm and ev­er rud­dy East

Far to the rug­ged North and gold­en West

The know­ledge of this won­drous Christ in­creased

With life and hope the dy­ing na­tions blessed:

Thence saints

ex­ult­ant

on­ward bore His sign

From land to land

and com­passed ev­ery shore;

One Lord

one faith

one aim

one end di­vine

Their theme and song

their life for ev­er­more!

Since ho­ly women bowed their heads and wept

Where from the grave the an­gel rolled the stone—

That grave where He

the Son of God

had slept

As Son of Man in dar­kness and alone—

What count­less names the world’s ap­plause have won!

What notes of praise have men to these in­scribed!

How soon were they for­got­ten

one by one

And earth’s poor hon­ors to the dead de­nied!

Not migh­ti­est kings the earth has ev­er seen

Nor time

nor pow­ers men hon­ored or ab­horred

Could crush the me­mo­ry of the Na­za­rene

Or shut the saints from pre­sence of their Lord:

In king­ly courts

in pri­sons foul and damp

In scenes tu­mul­tuous

as in homes of peace

There

with His own

God’s an­gel would en­camp

There rise the songs that nev­er­more shall cease!

Thus through the years of ag­es long ago

Thus in the chang­es of these lat­ter days:

One on­ly Lord

our Lord

ab­ove

be­low

And He the ob­ject of our end­less praise:

This the same key-note of un­num­bered lyres

This

too

th’ un­end­ing song of sweet ac­cord.

O world! ye have no theme that thus in­spires:

Ye still re­ject and cru­ci­fy the Lord.

In fur­nace fires

on mount­ains drear and cold;

In pea­sant hut

as in the pal­ace hall

The sto­ry of His life for ev­er told

And His dear love the burn­ing theme of all:

From lips too weak aught hu­man to ex­press

From no­ble hearts that held the world at bay

What songs have ris­en

and what strains con­fess

The bless­èd One whom I would praise to­day!

Christ Son of God

and Christ the Son of Man;

Christ on the cross

and Christ in kingly reign!

So sang the saints when first the song be­gan

So shall it rise a nev­er end­ing strain.

Come

Thou

and touch my lips

that I may sing;

Come

fill my heart with love to ov­er­flow:

My Lord

my life

I would some tri­bute bring

And tell the world how much to Thee I owe!