Luke 13:24-35

• [Luk 13:24] Strive Aright When God Doth Call

  Strive aright when God doth call thee, When He draws thee by His grace, Cast off all that would enthrall thee, And deter thee from the race. Wrestle, till thy zeal is burning And thy love is glowing warm, All that earth can give thee spurning, Half love will not bide the storm. Perfect truth will love to follow Watchfully our Master’s ways; Seeks not comfort poor and hollow, Looks not for reward or praise. Soldiers of the cross, take courage! Watch and war ’mid fear and pain; Daily conquering sin and sorrow, Till our King o’er earth shall reign.

  Play

  source: Cyberhymnal

• [Luk 13:29] Little Travelers Zionward

  Little travelers Zionward Each one entering into rest, In the kingdom of your Lord, In the mansions of the blest: There, to welcome, Jesus waits, Gives the crown His followers win; Lift your heads, ye golden gates, Let the little travelers in! Who are they whose little feet, Pacing life’s dark journey through, Now have reached the heavenly seat They had ever kept in view? “I from Greenland’s frozen land,” “I from India’s sultry plain,” “I from Africa’s barren sand,” “I from islands of the main.” “All our earthly journey past, Every tear and pain gone by, Here together met at last, At the portal of the sky.” Each the welcome “Come!” awaits, Conquerors over death and sin; Lift your heads, ye golden gates, Let the little travellers in.

  Play

  source: Cyberhymnal

• [Luk 13:34] Weep Not For Him Who Onward Bears

  Weep not for Him Who onward bears His cross to Calvary; He does not ask man’s pitying tears, Who wills for man to die. The awful sorrow of His face, The bowing of His frame, Come not from torture or disgrace; He fears not cross or shame. There is a deeper pang of grief, An agony unknown, In which His love finds no relief; He bears it all alone. He thinks of all for whom His life Of lowliness and pain, And weariness and care and strife, Will be, alas, in vain. He sees the souls for whom He dies Yet clinging to their sin, And heirs of mansions in the skies Who will not enter in. Ah! this, my Savior, was the shame That bowed Thy head so low; These were the wounds that racked Thy frame, And made Thy tears to flow. O may I in Thy sorrow share, And mourn that sins of mine Should ever wound with grief or care That loving heart of Thine.

  Play

  source: Cyberhymnal