I know if I am chosen to joint-heirship with my Lord,
To reign with Him in glory, to receive that great reward;
If after all my weaknesses a crown for me He’ll claim,
I know that choice will surely bring great glory to GOD’s name.
If I had been more worthy, and my stumblings had been few,
When men gave GOD the glory, they’d have praised my virtue, too;
If I’d ne’er lost a battle, or had never missed the mark,
As they talked about HIS goodness, mine, also, they’d remark.
But my being SO deficient, in thought and word and deed,
Means HE’LL get all the glory—HE deserves it all, indeed.
When they see this weak mortal raised to such immortal heights,
What praise will rise to HIM who in such nothingness delights!
I know that when my Savior did return to heaven above,
And was crowned with wondrous glory, it did prove His Father’s love;
But thinking of Christ’s merit, and His sinless life of grace,
‘Twas no wonder that Jehovah chose Him for such a place.
With me it is so different; I have not one thing to plead,
That I should be more honored than another bruised reed;
And truly there’s no reason to give me a mite of praise;
To HIM belongs all glory for the joys which crown my days.
If you knew all my failings, and my blemishes so vile,
And saw the loving patience my Father shows the while,
T’would amaze you beyond measure to think HE could or would
Make me an able servant who should do HIS people good.
But if to HIM such praise is due because of what I am—
Because of such a weakling HE has made a stronger man,
Then what will be HIS glory when HE’s raised me higher still,
And crowned me with His choicest on the top of Zion’s Hill?
That all these years of striving find me so imperfect still,
Does not speak much to my credit nor give a happy thrill;
Where I appear as worthy ’tis because HIS grace is there,
And in the praise and glory I deserve no part, no share.
I HATE my faults and failings, and I FIGHT them day by day,
But from self with all its weaknesses I cannot get away;
Despite this fact, HE uses me—beyond is still more grace—
And hosts will tell HIS glory—HIS who found poor me a place.
BENJAMIN H. BARTON.
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