What Is Thy Beloved More Than Another Beloved?
by J.G. Deck
Oh, what is thy Beloved? They oft inquire of me;
And what in my Beloved so passing fair I see?
Is it the heavenly splendour in which He shines above?
His riches, and dominions, that won my heart’s best love?
Oh no! ’tis not His glories; (He ‘s worthy of them all!)
‘Tis not the throne and scepter before which angels fall!
I view with heart exulting each crown His head adorns;
But, oh, He looks most lovely, wearing His crown of thorns.
I’m glad to see His raiment, than snow more spotless white,
Refulgent with its brightness, more dazzling than the light;
But more surpassing lovely His form appears to me,
When, stripped, and scourged, and bleeding, He hung upon the tree.
With warmest adoration I see Him on the throne,
And join the loud hosannas that His high virtues own;
But, oh, most blessed Jesus, I must confess to Thee,
More than the throne of glory, I love that sacred tree.
I joy to see the diadems upon Thy royal brow;
The state, and power, and majesty in which Thou sittest now:
But ’tis Thyself, Lord Jesus, makes heaven seem heaven to me,
Thyself, as first I knew Thee, uplifted on the tree.
Though higher than the highest, most mighty King Thou art,
Thy grace, and not Thy greatness, first touched my rebel heart:
Thy sword, it might have slain me, Thine arrows drunk my blood;
But ’twas Thy cross subdued me, and won my heart to God.
Thy scepter rules creation, Thy wounded hand rules me;
All bow before thy footstool, I but the nail-prints see:
Aloud they sound Thy titles, Thou Lord of lords most high;
One thrilling thought absorbs me – this Lord for ME did die!
Oh, this is my Beloved, there’s none so fair as He;
The chief among ten thousand, He’s all in all to me:
My heart it breaks with longing to dwell with Him above,
Who wooed me first, and won me, by His sweet dying love.
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