To Men From Mighty Nations Come

To men from mighty nations come,
Where men are full of greed,
Where demons dance and breed,
Where affluence and idols home:
In short a country dead in sins,
Of pride, adultery,
Of hate, and sorcery,
For them I now take up my pen:
To saints entrenched in holy war,
Who worldlings seek to mold,
In sins both new and old,
Those battered, bruised, and battle-sore,
Who fight for God for all their life,
This fight from start of man,
In every time and land,
That culminated with our Christ:
My brothers, you are Jesus’ bride,
You are not of the world,
You serve another lord,
They have no power of your lives.
For He has given life to you,
And with His Spirit filled,
When your old man was killed,
So Christ Himself will see you through.
You need not fear the plots of man,
But fear the Lord your God,
With honor and with love,
Who died for you when you were damned.
Such love, such grace, such sacrifice!
What demon poses threat?
Or who renews our debt?
Who dare declare He not suffice?
The devil must bow down to Him,
His name placed on your life,
That name of Jesus Christ,
Which gathers truth and purges sin.
God’s love endures though demons rage,
Though men still hate and boast,
Possessed by Satan’s hosts,
And thus pervert the world God made.
Then serve the Lord and love His bride,
Renew your mind in Him,
His grace to cleanse your sin,
And trusting Him to sanctify.
We trust that as He saves our souls,
He seeks to, by His church,
Transform this sinful earth,
His glory then our only goal.

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Psalm 30: Delivered from Death

I see the phantom terror strong,
The damning angel’s sword is drawn,
It’s stretched against the holy hill,
Ten thousand sevens he has killed.
These sheep are slaughtered for my sin,
Lord, bring this plague unto an end!
My dignity is thrown aside,
As to Jehovah’s throne I cried.
I cried and pleaded for His grace,
In desperation, on my face.
“What profit is there in my death?
I praise you with my living breath.
Would Your name then be glorified,
If my belief were vilified?
Display Your power in this day,
Dismay the mockers when You save!”
The Lord has turned His ear to me,
He has responded graciously.
He sent this threat to right my pride,
To make me panic as He hides.
He turned my heart back unto Him,
That I would grieve over my sin.
The angel has put up his sword!
Our hill redeemed by our great Lord.
My sackcloth changed for wedding robes,
To sing and dance, not weep and mope.
In order that for all my days,
My body may proclaim His praise.
My purpose, then, to glorify,
My Lord who saved and sanctifies.
He hauled me from my self-dug well,
I must exalt Him, thus compelled.
So teach the world to sing my song,
God saved us when Death’s sword was drawn.
His anger for an instant seen,
Is swallowed in eternity,
Apostasy consumed like dross,
His wrath gives way unto His cross.
For we may weep on Friday night,
But He will soon appear in light,
The end – oh Death, where have you fled?
Oh Grave who could not hold your dead.
Our wicked sin thrown into hell,
Redeemed forever we will tell.
This momentary trial is,
Preparing us for endless bliss.

Called, Loved, and Kept for Glory (Jude 24-25)

The call went out through all the earth,
An arrow shot from Zion’s heights,
To every tribe, and caste, and birth,
“Assemble to the flag of Christ!”
Specifically the summons sent,
The call that no man can resist,
So rally now: His bow is bent,
And Christ’s campaign is imminent.

The love He showed for every man,
Like lightening flashing from the cross,
To save the damned as was His plan,
And sanctify our clinging dross.
A host anointed as His sword,
Called holy by His very mouth,
To overrun all pagan swarms,
As would a whirlwind from the south.

And kept in battle from all harm,
Against the darts of Satan’s hordes,
Defended by His mighty arm,
And guarded by our holy Lord.
For He equipped us for this fight,
And never will release His hold,
And trial’s fire He ignites,
To turn out hearts of clay to gold.

So glory, then, will fall on Him,
For in our weakness He is shown,
His power in us slaying sin,
That glory may be His alone.
And in that long expected day,
From every age, will all the saints,
Before His throne in white arrayed,
All raise His banner and His praise.