“How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?”—Psalm 137:4.
Methinks, my soul, this strange land is the very place to sing the Lord’s song in, though the carnal around understand it not. Shall I hang my harp upon the willow, when Jesus is my song, and when he himself hath given me so much cause to sing?
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I will sing now, I will sing for evermore. In this strange land, in this barren land, in this distant land from my Father’s house, I will sing, and Jesus shall be my song. He shall be the Alpha and the Omega of my hymn; and until I come to sing in the louder and sweeter notes of heaven, among the hallelujahs of the blessed, upon the new harp and new stringed chords of my renewed soul, will I sing of Jesus and his blood, Jesus and his righteousness, Jesus and his complete salvation. And when the last song upon my trembling lips, with Jesus’s name in full, shall be uttered; as the sound dies away, when death seals up the power of utterance; my departing soul shall catch the parting breath, and, as it enters the presence of the court above, the first notes of my everlasting song will go on with the same blessed note, “to him that hath loved me, and washed me from my sins in his own blood!”
Robert Hawker, The Poor Man’s Morning and Evening Portions, March 4, Morning
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