O Zion, that bringest good tidings, get thee up into the high mountain; O Jerusalem, that bringest good tidings, lift up thy voice with strength; lift it up, be not afraid; say unto the cities of Judah, Isaiah 40:9
Behold your God!
Words: Philip Doddridge (1702–1751). Published posthumously in Hymns Founded on Various Texts in the Holy Scriptures, by Job Orton (Shropshire, England: Joshua Eddowes & John Cotton, 1755), number 118:
The glory of the Church in the latter day.
If you know where to get a good picture of Darwall (head-and-shoulders, at least 200×300 pixels), would you ?
Once, when I was on the sea, exactly at noon I saw a common sailor approaching the captain, who was on the bridge as usual at that time. I watched him as he came up, touched his Scotch cap in salutation, and said with gruff respectfulness,Eight bells, sir!
He meant by the announcement to report that he knew by the stars that it was just noon—that is, in sailor parlance, eight bells by the clock.
The captain with equal gruffness replied,Make it eight bells!It struck me rather as an odd assumption for that captain or for that sailor to make it noon. It was noon anyway, no matter what they did or what they thought about it.
But I kept my eye on the seaman; he went up to the ship’s bell a hundred feet away, and struck it with the clapper eight times, so that the sound went through all the ship from engine-room to topmast.
The thing was new to me; I thought instantly of God’s glory—his inherent glory and his declarative glory. He says to every man,Glorify me!That means,Make me glorious!But he is glorious in despite of men. We can neither add to nor take from his glory. Then say so.
That old sailor could not make it noon; it was noon. But he could make it noon in the ship; he could go and strike the eight bells, and then even the cook would know it and own it and live as if he felt it was noon overhead and all around him.
Men cannot touch God’s inherent glory; they can proclaim his declarative glory, however. Zion cannot makerays divine stream abroad; but Zion can tune her voice, and raise her hands on high, tell all the earth her joys, and boast salvation nigh.
Robinson, p. 38
O Zion, tune thy voice,
And raise thy hands on high;
Tell all the earth thy joys,
And boast salvation nigh;
Cheerful in God, arise and shine
While rays divine stream all abroad.
He gilds thy mourning face
With beams that cannot fade;
His all-resplendent grace
He pours around thy head;
The nations round thy forms shall view
With luster new divinely crowned.
In honor to His name
Reflect that sacred light;
And loud that grace proclaim,
Which makes thy darkness bright;
Pursue His praise till sovereign love
In worlds above, the glory raise.
There on His holy hill
A brighter sun shall rise,
And with His radiance fill
Those fairer, purer skies;
While round His throne ten thousand stars,
In nobler spheres His influence own.