The Coming Plague
The oil in the lamp is full,
The spirit guiding true,
Tis Christ I see,
Upon the tree,
Protecting me,
And calling me,
Eternity in view.
The holy censer to and fro,
The risen smoke a ghost,
The shuttered room,
In soft perfume,
The coming doom,
Shall not consume,
The presence of the host.
The dignifying Paraclete,
The comforter in sooth,
The guiding hand,
A holy brand,
My motherland,
A shadowland,
The armies void of ruth.
Anon, the drums of war resound,
The deviltry is plain,
Arrayed in strife,
The murders rife,
This precious life,
Below the knife,
With Jesus in disdain.
The kings so ravenously poised!
The battlements are manned!
This glut of pain,
A doleful drain,
The fates ordain,
That naught remain,
With bitter warfare fanned.
With men in animosity,
They bring the coming plague!
Their wicked hearts,
With Jesus smarts,
As light departs,
The horror starts,
With hope abysmal vague.
I clutch the precious lamp anon!
I keep the light aglow,
Tis holy grace,
They can’t erase,
My weary face,
Would blessings chase,
And heaven’s sweetness know…
🪔
