Let Him write what He will upon our hearts, With His unerring pen. They are His own, Hewn from the rock by His selecting grace, Prepared for His own glory. Let Him write! Be sure He will not cross out one sweet word But to inscribe a sweeter,--but to grave One that shall shine for ever to His praise, And thus fulfil our deepest heart-desire. The tearful eye at first may read the line, 'Bondage to grief!' But He shall wipe away The tears, and clear the vision, till it read In ever-brightening letters, 'Free to serve!' For whom the Son makes free is free indeed. Nor only by reclaiming His good gifts, But by withholding, doth the Master write These words upon the heart. Not always needs Erasure of some blessed line of love For this more blest inscription. Where He finds A tablet empty for the 'lines left out,' That 'might have been' engraved with human love And sweetest human cares, yet never bore That poetry of life, His own dear hand Writes 'Free to serve!' And these clear characters Fill with fair colours all the unclaimed space, Else grey and colourless. Then let it be The motto of our lives until we stand In the great freedom of Eternity, Where we '_shall_ serve Him' while we see His face, For ever and for ever 'Free to serve.' Coming to the King. 2 Chronicles ix. 1-12. I came from very far away to see The King of Salem; for I had been told Of glory and of wisdom manifold, And condescension infinite and free. How could I rest, when I had heard His fame, In that dark lonely land of death from whence I came? I came (but not like Sheba's queen), alone! No stately train, no costly gifts to bring; No friend at court, save One, that One the King! I had requests to spread before His throne, And I had questions none could solve for me, Of import deep, and full of awful mystery. I came and communed with that mighty King, And told Him all my heart; I cannot say, In mortal ear, what communings were they. But wouldst thou know, go too, and meekly bring All that is in thy heart, and thou shalt hear His voice of love and power, His answers sweet and clear. O happy end of every weary quest! He told me all I needed, graciously;-- Enough for guidance, and for victory O'er doubts and fears, enough for quiet rest; And when some veiled response I could not read, It was not hid from Him,--this was enough indeed. His wisdom and His glories passed before My wondering eyes in gradual revelation; The house that He had built, its strong foundation, Its living stones; and, brightening more and more, Fair glimpses of that palace far away, Where all His loyal ones shall dwell with Him for aye.