Dale Lloyd

There is a certain feeling which very often comes—
The feeling that, though far removed from yesterday, I’m one.
Believers of past ages, though dead, are yet alive:
Great men of faith, and women strong, whose witness still survives.

I take a book down from its shelf
And find within a world of wealth.
I hear the preacher’s fearless cry,
I watch them suffer, stand, and die.
I see them stand in strength for right,
And with their final breath still fight—
The fight of faith, the course they’d run,
Until they heard the words, “Well done!”

Upon the page of history
Their steadfast lives now pass by to me.
I see the Wesleys straight and strong,
I hear their preaching, feel their song.
Ah, yes—the music lingers still;
It stirs my heart, it moves my will.

There’s Martin Luther –  lifted hand—
I hear him yet, declare his stand.
My spirit trembles, wants to weep,
For longing with these saints to speak.
I cannot tell the mystery how,
But deep within, I feel it now:
Whenever I recall their name,
Their living faith still lights my flame.

With her who wrote in olden time,
“Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine,”
There’s Morgan, and there’s Moody—clear,
Their voices ringing in my ear.

But some may say that even now, despite this writer’s tears,
“The dead are dead, so let them go—forget them to the years.
It’s just a childish fantasy, a wild imagination,
To think you’ll join with so-called saints in lasting celebration.
You’re reaching for some far-off star, some empty, vain ideal—
A worthless, childish ignorance which makes a false appeal.”

For in my heart I’m satisfied,
Though words may fail, though faith be tried.
This hope within shall not be vain—
That I shall join with every saint from every generation—
Though long forgotten in the earth, we’ll live in God’s new nation.

Departed saints, who left this world forgotten and unknown,
Rejoice, rejoice, until I too shall join you at His throne.
O Saviour, quickly dawn the day when all that separates
Shall be forevermore removed; and then, through opened gates,
I’ll enter in and cast aside the symbol and the sign—
Whatever glory they once held, Your countenance shall outshine.

And there, within that blessed light of Christ, our sacred Head,
The countless number of His saints, now risen from the dead,
Shall know that depth of fellowship which now in part we see—
The crowning glory on Christ’s brow will be our unity.