Everlasting Love

Did He love me when I lay
Dead in trespasses and sins!
Is there, then, no time, no day
Where this wondrous love begins?
No! The Lord who died for thee
Loved thee from eternity.

Doth He love me even now,
Though my faith and hope are dim?
Will He still regard His vow
When I've broken faith with Him?
Yes! He loves thee still the same
As when thou didst love His name.

Will He love me all the way,
'Spite my wayward, selfish will?
O, if I again should stray - 
Tell me, will He love me still?
Yes! Thy failures can but prove
His eternal, changeless love.

Lord, how long I've striven in vain,
Resting not on Love Divine!
Now I know it doth remain
Changeless 'spite each change of mine.
Perfect, peerless, deathless, free
Is Thy love, O Lord, to me.

William Blane

Walk before God

Walk before God, and perfect be, 
Care not for human eyes, 
Which but the outward aspect see - 
To Heaven's standard rise.
Be not afraid to let thy ways - 
Each thought, and word, and deed - 
Be tested in the searching rays
Which from His throne proceed.

Walk before God. Be often where 
No human eye can see,
And all thy heart to Him lay bare:
From secret sins be free.
Thus shall thy actions and thy ways
His own approval meet;
Thy life shall be a life of praise,
Its end a triumph sweet.

Walk before God. Be not at ease
Though saints may think you right;
Be careful that Himself you please - 
Be perfect in His sight.
The fear of man but brings a snare - 
Care not for smile or frown;
Misunderstood, still do and dare,
That no one take thy crown.

Walk before God. Obey His Word,
And yield to His demands;
Beware of calling Jesus Lord,
And slighting His commands.
Live for that moment when unveil'd 
Each secret thing shall be,
Which every eye but His has fail'd
Within the breast to see.

William Blane

O my Saviour, I am weary

Lord, I'll bear Thine indignation
(For my sins have hid Thy face),
Till the joy of Thy salvation
Shall be mine again through grace;
Only let me, while I'm weeping,
Weep, O Saviour, at Thy feet;
For, though sin's sad fruit I'm reaping,
There to grieve make's sorrow sweet.

William Blane