Christ is just the same in heaven—
All my heart is glad for this;
Though the holy angels throng Him,
And their home hath naught but bliss—
Just the same amid their wonder,
And the happy strains of joy;
While the memory-thoughts of ages
Ever must His soul employ.

Thoughts of childhood in Judea—
Early loves that with Him played;
Walks along the hills and valleys—
Pleasant places where He stayed;
Faces fond, and voices thrilling—
Friends who leaned above His heart,
Whom He so well sought to comfort
When the day drew near to part.

Thoughts of sorrows, heart-deep sorrow
None had ever known before—
That, our burden—grief for all men,
On His shoulder He upbore;
Ties were knit by years of anguish—
Blood-bought mortals nearer seem—
Helpless earth held fast His pity,
Given in wakeful hours, and dream.

Hath He now beyond the cloud-gates
Turned His heart from time away?
Is Gethsemane forgotten,
And Mount Calvary’s gloomy day?
And the garden’s lonely prison,
Rock-encircled—made secure;
Doth He not so long remember
How He burst the heavy door?

All the past, and all the future,
As of old He knew—He knows;
And the grand results are measured
To be born of all His woes;
Glorious Christ! On earth in heaven—
Nought from Thee Thy plan can sever;
Earth’s and man’s almighty Savior,
Yesterday, today, forever.

James Albert Libby
Songs of History and Hope, 1891