The message first to Smyrna sent,
A message full of grace;
To all the Saviour's flock is meant,
In every age and place.

Thus to his church, his chosen bride,
Saith the great First and Last;
Who ever lives, though once he died,
Hold thy profession fast.

Thy works and sorrows well I know,
Performed and borne for me;
Poor though thou art, despised and low,
Yet who is rich like thee?

I know thy foes, and what they say,
How long they have blasphemed;
The synagogue of Satan, they,
Though they would Jews be deemed.

Though Satan for a season rage,
And prisons be your lot;
I am your friend, and I engage
You shall not be forgot.

Be faithful unto death, nor fear
A few short days of strife;
Behold! the prize you soon shall wear,
A crown of endless life!

Hear what the holy Spirit saith
Of all who overcome;
They shall escape the second death,
The sinner's aweful doom!

Dwelling In Mesech

What a mournful life is mine,
Fill with crosses, pains and cares!
Every work defiled with sin,
Every step beset with snares!

If alone I pensive fit,
I myself can hardly bear;
If I pass along the street,
Sin and riot triumph there.

Jesus! how my heart is pained,
How it mourns for souls deceived!
When I hear thy name profaned,
When I see thy Spirit grieved!

When thy children's griefs I view,
Their distress becomes my own;
All I hear, or see, or do,
Makes me tremble, weep and groan.

Mourning thus I long had been,
When I heard my Saviour's voice;
Thou hast cause to mourn for sin,
But in me thou may'st rejoice.

This kind word dispelled my grief,
Put to silence my complaints;
Though of sinners I am chief,
He his ranked me with his saints.

Though constrained to dwell a while
Where the wicked strive and brawl;
Let them frown; so he but smile,
Heav'n will make amends for all.

There, believers, we shall rest,
Free from sorrow, sin and fears;
Nothing there our peace molests,
Through eternal rounds of years.

Let us then the fight endure,
See our Captain looking down;
He will make the conquest sure,
And bestow the promised crown.

What Think Ye Of Christ?

What think you of Christ? is the test
To try both your state and your scheme;
You cannot be right in the rest,
Unless you think rightly of him.
As Jesus appears in your view,
As he is beloved or not;
So God is disposed to you,
And mercy or wrath are your lot.

Some take him a creature to be,
A man, or an angel at most;
Sure these have not feelings like me,
Nor know themselves wretched and lost:
So guilty, so helpless, am I,
I durst not confide in his blood,
Nor on his protection rely,
Unless I were sure he is God.

Some call him a Saviour, in word,
But mix their own works with his plan;
And hope he his help will afford,
When they have done all that they can:
If doings prove rather too light
(A little, they own, they may fail)
They purpose to make up full weight,
By casting his name in the scale.

Some style him the pearl of great price,
And say he's the fountain of joys;
Yet feed upon folly and vice,
And cleave to the world and its toys:
Like Judas, the Saviour they kiss,
And, while they salute him, betray;
Ah! what will profession like this
Avail in his terrible day?

If asked what of Jesus I think?
Though still my best thoughts are but poor;
I say, he's my meat and my drink,
My life, and my strength, and my store,
My Shepherd, my Husband, my Friend,
My Saviour from sin and from thrall;
My hope from beginning to end,
My Portion, my Lord, and my All.