The Dying Robber Raised His Aching Brow

The dy­ing rob­ber raised his ach­ing brow

To claim the dy­ing Lord for com­pa­ny;

And heard

in an­swer to his trem­bling bow

The pro­mise of the King: Thou—ev­en thou—

Today shalt be in para­dise with Me.

We

too

the mea­sure of our guilt con­fess

Knowing Thy mer­cy

Lord

our on­ly plea;

That we

like him

through judg­ment and dis­tress

For all the weight of our un­wor­thi­ness

May win our way to para­dise with Thee.

But so be­wil­dered is our fail­ing heart

So dim the lus­ter of Thy ro­yal­ty

We hard­ly know Thee

Lord

for what Thou art

Till we be­gin to take the bet­ter part

And lose our­selves in para­dise with Thee.

Then lift our eyes

dear Lord

from this poor dross

To see Thee reign­ing in hu­mil­ity

The King of love; that

wrest­ing gain from loss

We

too

may climb the lad­der of the cross

To find our home in para­dise with Thee.