Today’s hymn begins our approach to Easter, which is the last Sunday of the month. “None Other Lamb” was written by the marvelous English poet Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894). She didn’t write it as a hymn but as a poetic response to Revelation 5.

“And I saw a mighty angel proclaiming with a loud voice, ‘Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?’” (Revelation 5:2 ESV)

1 None other Lamb, none other name,
none other hope in heav’n or earth or sea,
none other hiding place from guilt and shame,
none beside thee!

2 My faith burns low, my hope burns low;
only my heart’s desire cries out in me
by the deep thunder of its want and woe,
cries out to thee.

3 Lord, thou art Life, though I be dead;
love’s fire thou art, however cold I be:
nor heav’n have I, nor place to lay my head,
nor home, but thee.

Our theme this month has been spiritual warfare, and today’s song departs from that. It’s a traditional spiritual with a straight gospel message. Run to the city of refuge while you have the chance.

“And Samson said, ‘Let me die with the Philistines.’ Then he bowed with all his strength, and the house fell upon the lords and upon all the people who were in it. So the dead whom he killed at his death were more than those whom he had killed during his life.” (Judges 16:30 ESV)

Today’s hymn was written by Rev. George Matheson of Glasgow, Scotland (1842-1906). He published several works of prose and poetry while serving as a parish minister. His most popular hymn is “O Love, That Wilt Not Let Me Go.” “Make Me a Captive, Lord” was published in 1890. The tune was written in 1862 by George William Martin of London.

“Put not your trust in princes,
in a son of man, in whom there is no salvation.
When his breath departs, he returns to the earth;
on that very day his plans perish.” (Psalm 146:3–4 ESV)

1 Make me a captive, Lord,
and then I shall be free;
force me to render up my sword,
and I shall conqueror be.
I sink in life’s alarms
when by myself I stand;
imprison me within Your arms,
and strong shall be my hand.

2 My heart is weak and poor
until it master find;
it has no spring of action sure —
it varies with the wind.
It cannot freely move,
till You have forged its chain;
enslave it with Your matchless love,
and deathless it shall reign.

3 My power is faint and low
till I have learned to serve;
it lacks the needed fire to glow,
it lacks the breeze to nerve;
it cannot drive the world,
until itself be driven;
its flag can only be unfurled
when You shall breathe from heaven.

4 My will is not my own
until to You it’s given;
it must its earthly crown resign
if it would reach to heaven;
it only stands unbent,
amid the clashing strife,
when on Your bosom it has leant,
and found in You its life.

Today’s hymn is an old favorite. The great Isaac Watts (1674-1748) wrote this meditation on the Christian life in the modern world. The tune above is not one from your hymnal. It’s an excellent pairing with a traditional Irish tune, which I think of as “The Foggy Dew” but is used in many songs. Do you sing this song at your church?

“Share in suffering as a good soldier of Christ Jesus” (2 Tim 2:3 ESV).

1 Am I a soldier of the cross,
A follower of the Lamb?
And shall I fear to own His cause,
Or blush to speak His name?

2 Must I be carried to the skies
On flowery beds of ease,
While others fought to win the prize,
And sailed through bloody seas?

3 Are there no foes for me to face?
Must I not stem the flood?
Is this vile world a friend to grace,
To help me on to God?

4 Sure I must fight if I would reign;
Increase my courage, Lord;
I’ll bear the toil, endure the pain,
Supported by Thy word.

5 Thy saints, in all this glorious war,
Shall conquer, though they die;
They view the triumph from afar,
And seize it with their eye.

6 When that illustrious day shall rise,
And all thine armies shine
In robes of victory through the skies,
The glory shall be Thine.

For January, we’re going to follow a theme of looking ahead to the Lord’s return. Today’s hymn was written by Edward Henry Bickersteth (1825-1906), at one time Vicar of Christ Church, Hampstead, London.

“Only hold fast what you have until I come” (Rev. 2:25 ESV)

1 “Till he come!” O let the words
linger on the trembling chords;
let the little while between
in their golden light be seen;
let us think how heav’n and home
lie beyond that “Till he come.”

2 When the weary ones we love
enter on their rest above,
seems the earth so poor and vast,
all our life-joy overcast?
Hush, be ev’ry murmur dumb:
it is only till he come.

3 Clouds and conflicts round us press:
would we have one sorrow less?
All the sharpness of the cross,
all that tells the world is loss,
death and darkness, and the tomb,
Only whisper “Till he come.”

4 See, the feast of love is spread,
drink the wine, and break the bread:
sweet memorials, till the Lord
call us round his heav’nly board;
some from earth, from glory some,
severed only till he come.