A Red Sea Place
Annie Johnson Flint
Have you come to the Red Sea place in your life,
Where in spite of all you can do,
There is no way out, there is no way back,
There is no other way but through?
Then wait on the Lord with a trust serene
Till the night of your fear is gone;
He will send the wind, He will heap the floods,
When He says to your soul “Go on.”
And His hand will lead you through – clear through –
Ere the watery walls roll down,
No foe can reach you, no wave can touch,
No mightiest sea can drown;
The tossing billows may rear their crests,
Their foam at your feet may break,
But over their bed you shall walk dryshod
In the path that your Lord will make.
In the morning watch, ‘neath the lifted cloud,
You shall see but the Lord alone,
When He leads you on from the place of the sea,
To a land that you have not known;
And your fears shall pass as your foes have passed,
You shall no more be afraid;
You shall sing His praise in a better place,
A place that His hand has made.
Psalm 106:9 He rebuked the Red sea also, and it was
dried up: so he led them through the depths,
as through the wilderness.
Heb. 11:29 By faith they passed through the
Red sea as by dry land: which the Egyptians
assaying to do were drowned.
by Annie Johnson Flint
Shut in–shut in from the ceaseless din
Of the restless world, and its want and sin.
Shut in from its turmoil, care and strife
And all the wearisome round of life.
Shut in, with tears that are spent in vain.
With the dull companionship of pain;
Shut in with the changeless days and hours,
And the bitter knowledge of failing powers.
Shut in with a trio of angels sweet–
Patience and Grace all pain to meet,
With Faith that can suffer and stand and wait,
And lean on the promises strong and great!
Shut in with Christ! Oh, wonderful thought!
Shut in with the peace His sufferings brought;
Shut in with the love that wields the rod–
Oh, company blest! shut in with God!
The Years of His Right Hand
By Annie Johnson Flint
I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High.
I have covered thee in the shadow of mine hand. –Isaiah 51:16
I remember the years of His hand’s deep shadow…
The sun was darkened, the stars were veiled,
The glory of life was a fading flower,
And mirth was over and music failed;
But in that shade I was safely hidden,
From wind and tempest I knew release,
And for the old, new songs were given,
My heart learned patience, my soul found peace.
I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness. –Isaiah 41:10
I remember the years of His hand’s upholding…
Its help how mighty, its clasp how strong;
Almost I slipped when my feet were sliding,
Almost I fell when the way was long;
But never once did His strength forsake me,
And when I leaned on His wondrous might,
On wings I mounted, I ran unwearied,
I walked unfainting, by day or night.
Thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee.
I remember the years of His hand’s sure leading…
How safe His guidance, His ways how wise;
Often my thoughts and my heart would wander,
My feet would follow my straying eyes;
But never once did His patience fail me,
And through it all did His love restrain,
And when I followed where He would lead me,
How all the way and the end grew plain.
I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands. –Isaiah 49:16
I remember the years of His hand’s safe keeping…
When danger threatened or sin beset,
When, the rudder fallen from nerveless fingers,
My life-bark drifted where wild seas met;
But through it all did His power keep me,
And now I know, when my foes assail,
Strong to deliver, He waits to succor,
And prays for me lest my faith should fail.
The Lord…will hear…from His holy heaven with the saving strength of His right hand. –Psalm 20:6
Oh, I know that my name on Thy palms is graven,
I remember the years of Thy hand, Most High!
How it has sheltered and held and guided
‘Neath clouded heaven or open sky;
I lean on Thine arm and Thy hand upholds me,
Its power protects and its strength defends;
Still it shall hide me and keep and lead me
Till Home is reached and the journey ends.
Come Unto Me
-By Annie Johnson Flint
Come unto Me, all ye that labor,
That sink beneath your load of care;
Come unto Me when shadows gather,
And raise your hearts to Me in prayer.
I wait to give your souls a blessing,
To lift you upward to My breast;
Come, weary, worn, and heavy-laden,
And I will give you rest.
Come unto Me, all ye that hunger,
When all your fairest hopes have died;
When all the joys that Earth can give you
Have left you still unsatisfied;
Her stony bread and broken cisterns
Your thirsting souls forever mock;
Come unto Me, and I will give you
The water from the Rock.
Come unto Me, ye brokenhearted
Who walk alone life’s thorny ways;
For you I felt Myself forsaken,
And now am with you all the days.
My love alone is everlasting;
The heart I made, shall I not fill?
Come, lonely, sad, your want confessing;
And all your longing still.
The Inner Chamber
By Annie Johnson Flint
The House of the Lord has many chambers,
Large and lofty, or low and small,
And some who turn from the world’s broad highways
And find the door to the entrance hall,
Are satisfied with its shade and coolness,
To know they have come to the House of a Friend,
And resting there in the peace and quiet
They think they have fared to their journey’s end.
And some are content with the ante-chamber
That opens out of the entrance hall,
With the winds that blow from the spicy gardens,
The musical plash of the fountain’s fall;
They feast on the fruits of the Spirit’s giving,
And muse on the thought of joys to come,
And resting there in the peace and quiet
Are glad that the Lord has brought them home.
But those who have heeded His invitation
To come up higher and enter in,
To the upper room of the Master’s dwelling,
To stores of treasures their way shall win.
What eye hath seen them? What mind conceived them?
What heart hath dreamed of the things concealed,
The joys prepared for the Lord’s beloved,
To those who seek them alone revealed?
Clothed with His glory they leave His presence,
Girt with His power they walk abroad,
Who find the door to the inner chamber,
The secret place of the Most High God.
The Court of the King
-from Annie Johnson Flint’s
With the staff that had failed in my need
Where the road had been stony and steep;
With lamp that was smoking and dim,
Though the darkness was growing more deep;
Weary, too weary to pray
And too heavy-hearted to sing,
Faint with the toils of the way
I came to the court of the King.
There where the fountains fall cool,
Their waters unfailing and pure;
There where the ministering palms
Stand like His promises sure,
Oh! There was peace in its shade,
Oh! There was rest in its calm;
And its sweet silences lay
On my bruised spirit like balm.
Long did I kneel in His court,
And walk in His garden so fair;
All I had lost or had lacked
I found in His treasuries there;
Oil to replenish my lamp,
His kindness a crown for my head,
For the staff that had wounded my hand
The rod of His mercy instead.
A garment of praises I found
For the sullen, dark garb I had worn,
And sandals of peace for the feet
That the rocks and the briers had torn;
Joy for my mourning He gave,
Making my spirit to sing,
And, girded with gladness and strength,
I passed from the court of the King.