Though in the Outward Church Below

Though in the out­ward church be­low

The wheat and tares to­ge­ther grow;

Jesus ere long will weed the crop

And pluck the tares

in an­ger

up.

Will it re­lieve their hor­rors there

To re­col­lect their sta­tions here?

How much they heard

how much they knew

How long amongst the wheat they grew!

Oh! this will ag­gra­vate their case!

They per­ished un­der means of grace;

To them the word of life and faith

Became an in­stru­ment of death.

We seem alike when thus we meet

Strangers might think we all are wheat;

But to the Lord’s all-search­ing eyes

Each heart ap­pears with­out dis­guise.

The tares are spared for va­ri­ous ends

Some

for the sake of pray­ing friends;

Others

the Lord

against their will

Employs His coun­sels to ful­fill.

But though they grow so tall and strong

His plan will not re­quire them long;

In har­vest

when He saves His own

The tares shall in­to hell be thrown.