Text 849, 71 rader
Skriven 2006-01-18 03:52:38 av Bob Hoffman (8:8/2)
Ärende: Christ and His Children
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Faith's Checkbook

January 18

Christ and His Children

"When Thou shalt make His soul an offering for sin, He shall see His seed"
(Isaiah 53:10).

Our LORD Jesus has not died in vain. His death was sacrificial: He died as our
substitute, because death was the penalty of our sins. Because His substitution
was accepted of God, He has saved those for whom He made His soul a sacrifice.
By death He became like the corn of wheat which bringeth forth much fruit.
There must be a succession of children unto Jesus; He is "the Father of the
everlasting age." He shall say, "Behold, I and the children whom Thou hast
given me."

A man is honored in his sons, and Jesus hath His quiver full of these arrows of
the mighty. A man is represented in his children, and so is the Christ in
Christians. In his seed a man's life seems to be prolonged and extended; and so
is the life of Jesus continued in believers.

Jesus lives, for He sees His seed. He fixes His eye on us, He delights in us,
He recognizes us as the fruit of His soul travail. Let us be glad that our LORD
does not fail to enjoy the result of His dread sacrifice, and that He will
never cease to feast His eyes upon the harvest of His death. Those eyes which
once wept for us are now viewing us with pleasure. Yes, He looks upon those who
are looking unto Him. Our eyes meet! What a joy is this!

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756 C.M. J. BERRIDGE
“Unto you which believe he is precious.ö 1 Pet. 2. 7

1 Exceeding precious is my Lord;
His love divinely free!
And his dear name does health afford, To sickly souls like me.

2 It cheers a debtor’s gloomy face, And breaks his prison door;
It brings amazing stores of grace
To feed the gospel poor.

3 And if with lively faith we view
His dying toil and smart,
And hear him say, “It was for you!ö This breaks the stony heart.

4 A heavenly joy his words convey;
The bowels strangely move;
We blush, and melt, and faint away, O’erwhelmed with his love.

5 In such sweet posture let me lie, And wet thy feet with tears,
Till, joined with saints above the sky, I tune my harp with theirs.

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