Most of us who read the TBC newsletter may remember this favorite poem (“The Sacred Hour” by William Blane) that Dave Hunt has shared in part from time to time. Given the astounding popularity of The Chosen, advocated by numerous evangelical shepherds who have led their sheep to drink from that muddy stream polluted by the contrived and corrupted biblical beliefs of man, the time is more than critical for being reminded of how precious and pure is God's Word (Proverbs:30:5).
O tell me not of worldly lore
And treasures of the earth!
To him who draws from Heaven’s store
They can be little worth.
I sail a sea of Love divine,
Unfathomed and unbound;
I search a deep and wealthy mine
Where gems of Heaven are found.
The Spirit’s breezes gently blow
That I may sail this sea;
His is the light to search and show
God’s deep, deep things to me.
O Book of wondrous depths and heights,
Of wisdom ever new,
Which in ten thousand various lights
Brings Jesus into view;
Whatever truths in thee I trace
New aspects meet mine eye,
And of His glory and His grace
Page unto page doth cry!
Of Science and Philosophy
I’ve heard the spreading fame;
They’re broad and deep, and urged, they say,
By many a pressing claim.
’Tis said Philosophy hath charms
Which prove celestial birth;
That Science, with distended arms,
Grasps heaven in grasping earth.
I know not; neither have I tried
Their claims to disallow;
A trusting heart is satisfied
With neither why nor how.
They come from God if they be right,
If true they lead to Him;
But who would shun the noonday light
To grope in shadows dim?
And who would leave the Fountain Head
To drink the muddy stream,
Where men have mixed what God hath said
With every dreamer’s dream?
How dim is every earthly light
When sun’s celestial glow!
No earthly visions lure the sight
Where God His face doth show.
’Tis sweet in prayer on God to call
While He my voice doth hear,
But sweeter when His sayings fall
Upon my opened ear!
For this I leave the paths of men
And shun my friends’ abode;
No earthly claims can stay me when
My spirit pants for God!
O not for wealth, nor fame, nor power,
Nor love, nor truest friend,
Would I forego the sacred hour
Which with God’s Word I spend!
I steal it from the hours of sleep
If leisure be not given,
For only this the soul can keep
In touch with God and Heav’n.
And thus to hearken unto Him
For one sweet, fleeting hour,
Is balm to wearied heart and limb—
Restoring grace and power.
Dear Book of treasures all divine,
My precious, priceless store!
How rich I am since thou art mine!
How poor I was before!