There Was No Angel

There was no an­gel ’midst the throng

Which stood around the throne

Who could God’s jus­tice sa­tis­fy

Or for man’s sins atone.

Nor could Je­ho­vah’s love en­dure

A mes­sen­ger to send

To bear the sin­ner’s pun­ish­ment

The guil­ty to be­friend.

Not e’en the burst­ing floods of wrath

Could quench the flames of love

Which shin­ing hid the flash­ing sword

The law un­sheathed above.

The gra­cious Fa­ther speaks a word

Into His dear Son’s ear

Which

ec­ho­ing o’er the trem­bling earth

Dismissed our anx­ious fear.

And

when the wea­ry ag­es passed

God to the world ap­peared;

And in the Babe of Beth­le­hem

His glo­ry was en­sphered.

No crea­ture whom His hand had made

Came with that word of hope;

Nor was a crea­ture’s strength re­quired

With Sa­tan’s pow­er to cope.

For God Him­self in Ma­ry’s son

Brought grace and truth to light

And in the face of Je­sus Christ

We read His love aright.

Jesus

Thou art my Lord

my God

I kneel and bow to Thee;

For on Thy brow

though bruised with thorns

A crown di­vine I see.

And I can trust the migh­ty work

Which must be done for me

To those dear hands of love and pow­er

Now fast­ened to the tree.

If Thou wert less than one di­vine

My soul would be dis­mayed;

But through Thy hu­man lips God speaks

’Tis I

be not afraid.

Yet

bruised and bleed­ing on the cross

I see Thy form di­vine;

And

though up­on th’ac­curs­èd tree

I joy to call Thee mine.

The sword which should have pierced my life

Has en­tered Thy dear breast

And in God’s faith­ful­ness to Thee

My trust­ing heart shall rest.

Death and the tomb no pow­er had

To hide Thy glo­ry

Lord;

For Thou didst rise ’midst heav’n­ly hosts

By whom Thou wert ad­ored.

And aft­er men were com­fort­ed

By sight of Thee again

Thou didst as­cend to God’s right hand

Their great­er good to gain.

Thou wilt not leave my soul alone

To strug­gle to Thy side

But in my spir­it’s help­less­ness

Shall strength di­vine bide.

And

when I stand on Jor­dan’s waves

Thou shalt my weak­ness hold

Until at last my wea­ry feet

Shall walk the streets of gold.

There

in that cloud­less light se­rene

Before the shin­ing throne

I’ll wor­ship at the feet of Him

Who did for me atone.