A Poem by C. T. Studd: Only One Life, Twill Soon Be Past

 Only One Life, Twill Soon Be Past

by C. T. Studd, 1860 - 1931

English Missionary to China, India, and Africa

Two little lines I heard one day, Traveling along life's busy way;
Bringing conviction to my heart, And from my mind would not depart;
Only one life, 'twill soon be past, Only what's done for Christ will last.
Only one life, yes only one, Soon will its fleeting hours be done;
Then, in ‘that day’ my Lord to meet, And stand before His Judgement seat;

Only one life, 'twill soon be past, Only what's done for Christ will last.

Only one life, the still small voice, Gently pleads for a better choice

Bidding me selfish aims to leave, And to God's holy will to cleave;

Only one life, 'twill soon be past, Only what's done for Christ will last.

Only one life, a few brief years, Each with its burdens, hopes, and fears;

Each with its clays I must fulfill. living for self or in His will;
Only one life, 'twill soon be past, Only what's done for Christ will last.

When this bright world would tempt me sore, When Satan would a victory score;

When self would seek to have its way, Then help me Lord with joy to say;
Only one life, 'twill soon be past, Only what's done for Christ will last.

Give me Father, a purpose deep, In joy or sorrow Thy word to keep;

Faithful and true what e'er the strife, Pleasing Thee in my daily life;

Only one life, 'twill soon be past, Only what's done for Christ will last.

Oh, let my love with fervor burn, And from the world now let me turn;

Living for Thee, and Thee alone, Bringing Thee pleasure on Thy throne;

Only one life, 'twill soon be past, Only what's done for Christ will last.

Only one life, yes only one, Now let me say, “Thy will be done;”
And when at last I'll hear the call, I know I'll say, “twas worth it all;”

Only one life, 'twill soon be past, Only what's done for Christ will last.

Only one life, 'twill soon be past, Only what's done for Christ will last.

And when I am dying, how happy I'll be,
If the lamp of my life has been burned out for Thee.

A Poem by E. Shillito: Jesus of the Scars

 Jesus of the Scars

by Edward Shillito

“Reach your finger here, and look at My hands; and reach your hand here, and put it into My side. Do not be unbelieving, but believing.” John 20:27

If we have never sought, we seek Thee now;
Thine eyes burn through the dark, our only stars;

We must have sight of thorn-pricks on Thy brow; We must have Thee, O Jesus of the Scars.

The heavens frighten us; they are too calm; In all the universe we have no place.

Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm? Lord Jesus, by Thy Scars, we claim Thy grace.

If, when the doors are shut, Thou drawest near, Only reveal those hands, that side of Thine;

We know to-day what wounds are, have no fear, Show us Thy Scars, we know the countersign.

The other gods were strong; but Thou wast weak; They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne; But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak,

And not a god has wounds, but Thou alone.

A poem by Edward Shillito (1872-1948), a Free Church minister in England during the First World War. Cited by D.A. Carson in How Long, O Lord?: Reflections on Suffering and Evil on page 170 of the 2nd edition. According to Carson: The poem is found in Shillito’s Jesus of the Scars, and Other Poems, but I have not been able to obtain a copy. The poem is reprinted in William Temple, Readings in St. John’s Gospel (New York: St. Martin’s, 1968), 366).