The Same
James Boyd
Amid the countless worlds which through
The depths of the pellucid blue
Their paths circuitous pursue
His throne is set.
About His footstool bright they flame;
He knows their nature, number, name,
Mass, gravity, age, orbit, frame,
Historiette.
Their belts, and rings, and moons He made,
And here and there, their coasts to aid,
And guard against all hostile raid,
A strong vedette.
Before our vision, huge; before
His, as the sand upon the shore:
Each world an atom, nothing more,
A globulet.
Yet from each scintillating sphere
Is wafted worship to His ear,
Euphonious, ravishing to hear,
In chansonette.
And men in every clime they call
His power and Godhead to extol,
Who by His wisdom made them all,
Sun and lunette.
Yet shall their comeliness decay,
Their primal brightness fade away,
And time’s rough wear and tear shall fray,
Corrode and fret.
But He who made them shall abide,
He who for our transgressions died,
Who, pierced through hands, and feet, and side,
Discharged our debt.
He shall abide, when living light
Has put the gloom of death to flight
And banished far the black-browed night
With sorrow wet.
He shall abide when, winter fled,
Summer shall endless glories shed,
And man shall no more earn his bread
With toil and sweat.
He shall abide, when we shall stand
Within that cloudless glory-land,
When the blood-ransomed heavenly band
Their Lord have met.
And round about His feet for aye
Worlds shall pursue their shining way,
And earth shall in that glorious day
Her woes forget.
He shall abide, and we shall see
Creation bend to Him the knee,
And as we would, with glad hearts, we
Shall praise Him yet.
For in our Father’s house above,
Lost in His everlasting love,
His favour boundless we shall prove
Without it set.