The King of Glory standeth
Beside the heart of sin.
His mighty voice commandeth
The raging waves within.
The floods of deepest anguish
Roll backward at His will,
As o'er the storm ariseth
His mandate, "Peace be still."
At times with sudden glory,
He speaks and all is done ;
Without one stroke of battle
The victory is won.
While we with joy beholding
Can scarce believe it true
That e'en our Kingly Jesus
Can thus form hearts anew.
He comes in blood-stained garments,
Upon His brow a crown;
The gates of brass fly open,
The iron bands drop down.
From off the fettered captive
The chains of Satan fall,
While angels shout triumphant
That Christ is Lord of all.
But sometimes in the stillness
He gently draweth near,
And whispers words of comfort
Into the sinner's ear;
With anxious heart he waiteth
The answer to His cry,
The oft-repeated question,
"Oh, wherefore wilt ye die?"
Or in the gathering darkness.
With wounded feet and sore.
The suppliant Saviour standeth,
And knocketh at the door.
The bleak winds howl around Him,
The unbelief and sin;
Yet Jesus waits, entreating
That He may enter in.
He whispers through the lattice,
He woos them with His love,
He calls them to the kingdom
That waits for them above.
He speaks of all the gladness
His yearning heart would give;
Tells of the flowing fountain,
And bids the wash and live.
O Christ, Thy love is mighty,
Long-suffering is Thy grace.
And glorious is the splendor
That beameth from Thy face!
Our hearts upleap in gladness
When we behold that love,
As we go singing onward,
To dwell with Thee above!.
