Out from the mine and the darkness, Out from the damp and the mold, Out from the fiery furnace, Cometh each grain of gold, Crushed into atoms and leveled Down to the humblest dust, With never a heart to pity, With never a hand to trust. Molten and hammered and beaten, Seemeth it ne’er to be done. Oh! for such fiery trial, What hath the poor gold done? Oh! ’twere a mercy to leave it Down in the damp and the mold; If this is the glory of living, Then better be dross than gold. Under the press and the roller, Into the jaws of the mint, Stamped with the emblem of freedom With never a flaw or a dint; Oh! what a joy, the refining Out of the damp and the mold! And stamped with the glorious image, Oh, beautiful coin of gold!
I could scarce believe my ears As the Roman soldier said: “You there, stranger, lift that cross, Follow Jesus, good as dead.”
I had missed the troubled crowd, Having just come into town. Now I pressed beneath the load, Joined to him who wore a crown.
All around humanity, Yet my thoughts were fixed on him. Why the back ripped to the bone? Why the cruel and thorny brim?
How he struggled to ascend! How he laboured for his breath! Yet I sensed his body strove T’ward the hill marked for his death.
It became a strange desire To relieve his tortured frame; To receive the brunt of burden, But to go on just the same.
I was reckoning in me A compassion yet unknown, While he nobly took the taunts: “Where’s your kingdom? Where’s your throne? ”
Momentarily we stopped To console dear grieving friends. In his voice was total calm, Real concern for their lives’ ends.
Then, too soon, my privilege passed. We had come to Calvary. “Thank you friend, ” he gazed at me, Then they nailed him to the tree!
Oh, the truth welled up in me! Could the blinded mob not see? Here their sin’s death penalty. Here the Crux of Destiny. In the man from Galilee. In my friend who hung for me.
There were two who shared his plight, Robbers, bearing each his cross. One would hail him Lord of Light. One would chose eternal loss.
And such love etched on his face For the dogs who pierced and nailed. And a priestly prayer for grace, And a final psalm exhaled.
At his death the skies were dark And the crowd stood hushed and awed. ‘Neath the profile still and stark, ‘Neath the battered Son of God.
And a soldier lowered his head With a sense of grief and shame; For the gentle one now dead, For the folk who were to blame.
And another thrust him through With a spear to his right side; Though already we all knew That the Holy One had died.
And a woman beat her breast As she looked upon her son. And her sobs held one request, Just what evil had he done?
How was I then to expect That in three days news would ring Of the tombstone rolled away? Of the resurrected King!
But his converts would explain That for months the rabbi said, That Messiah must be slain And then risen from the dead.
So, I give to you my joy. From my sin I am set free! And my praise I will employ For the one who died for me:
Simon, stranger, lift that cross. Follow Jesus good as dead. I will follow him forever, Living for my Lord instead.
GALATIANS 2: 20 I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me
The Word is the best lantern for dark, sinister times such as these. Hack your Bible!
Your Word is is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path…
- Psalm 119:105
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