Ah! if we had stood at the foot of the Cross, and watched the tremendous payment of our redemption with the precious blood of Christ,--if we had seen that awful price told out, drop by drop, from His own dear patient brow and torn hands and feet, till it was ALL paid, and the central word of eternity was uttered, '_It is finished!_' should we not have been ready to say, '_Not a mite will I withhold!_'
My Jewels.
'Shall I hold them back--my jewels? Time has travelled many a day Since I laid them by for ever, Safely locking them away; And I thought them yielded wholly. When I dared no longer wear Gems contrasting, oh, so sadly! With the adorning I would bear.
'Shall I keep them still--my jewels? Shall I, can I yet withhold From that living, loving Saviour Aught of silver or of gold? Gold so needed, that His gospel May resound from sea to sea; Can I know Christ's service lacketh, Yet forget His "unto Me"!
'No; I lay them down--my jewels, Truly on the altar now. Stay! I see a vision passing Of a gem-encircled brow: Heavenly treasure worn by Jesus, Souls won through my gift outpoured; Freely, gladly I will offer Jewels thus to crown my Lord!'
From _Woman's Work._