Far Down the Ages Now

Far down the ag­es now

Her jour­ney well nigh done

The pil­grim Church pur­sues her way

In haste to reach the crown.

The sto­ry of the past

Comes up be­fore her view;

How well it seems to suit her still

Old

and yet ev­er new.

’Tis the same sto­ry still

Of sin and wea­ri­ness

Of grace and love still flow­ing down

To par­don and to bless.

’Tis the old sor­row still

The bri­ar and the thorn;

And ’tis the same old so­lace yet—

The hope of com­ing morn.

No wid­er is the gate

No broad­er is the way

No smooth­er is the an­cient path

That leads to light and day.

No light­er is the load

Beneath whose weight we cry

No tam­er grows the re­bel flesh

Nor less our en­emy.

No sweet­er is the cup

Nor less our lot of ill;

’Twas tri­bu­la­tion ag­es since

’Tis tri­bu­la­tion still.

No green­er are the rocks

No fresh­er flow the rills

No ros­es in the wilds ap­pear

No vin­es up­on the hills.

Still dark the sky above

And sharp the de­sert air;

’Tis wide

bleak de­so­la­tion round

And sha­dow ev­ery­where.

Dawn lin­gers on yon cliff

But

oh

how slow to spring!

Morning still nes­tles on yon wave

Afraid to try its wing.

No slack­er grows the fight

No feeb­ler is the foe

Nor less the need of ar­mor tried

Of shield and spear and bow.

Nor less we feel the blank

Of earth’s still ab­sent king;

Whose pre­sence is of all our bliss

The ev­er­last­ing spring.

Thus on­ward still we press

Through ev­il and through good

Through pain and po­ver­ty and want

Through pe­ril and through blood.

Still faith­ful to our God

And to our cap­tain true

We fol­low where He leads the way

The king­dom still our view.