Friday, January 17, 2025
Heaven's New Song
Revelation 7 The New Song
"And they sang a new song."—Rev. 5:9.
After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands,10 and crying out with a loud voice, "Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!"11 And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God,12 saying, "Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen."
13 Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, "Who are these, clothed in white robes, and from where have they come?"14 I said to him, "Sir, you know." And he said to me, "These are the ones coming out of the great tribulation. They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
15 "Therefore they are before the throne of God,
and serve him day and night in his temple;
and he who sits on the throne will shelter them with his presence.
16 They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore;
the sun shall not strike them,
nor any scorching heat.
17 For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd,
and he will guide them to springs of living water,
and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes."
Instead of waiting until you get sick and worn out before you speak the praise of Christ, while your heart is happiest, and your step is lightest, and your fortunes smile, and your pathway blossoms, and the overarching heavens drop upon you their benediction, speak the praises of Jesus.
The old Greek orators, when they saw their audiences inattentive and slumbering, had one word with which they would rouse them up to the greatest enthusiasm. In the midst of their orations, they would stop and cry out " Marathon !" and the people's enthusiasm would be unbounded. My hearers, though you may have been borne down with sin, and though trouble, and trials, and temptation may have come upon you, and you feel hardly like looking up, methinks there is one grand, royal, imperial word that ought to rouse your soul to infinite rejoicing, and that word is "Jesus!"
There was a song to-day that touched the life of the aged with holy fire, and kindled a glory on their vision that our younger eye-sight can not see. It was the song of salvation— Jesus, who fed them all their lives long;
Jesus, who wiped away their tears ; Jesus, who stood by them when all else failed; Jesus, in whose name their marriage was consecrated, and whose resurrection has poured light upon the graves of their departed. "Do you know me?" said the wife to her aged husband who! was dying, his mind already having gone out. He said "No." And the son said, "Father, do you know me?" He said "No." The daughter said, "Father, do you know me?" He said "No." The minister of the Gospel standing by, said, "Do you know Jesus?" "Oh yes," he said, " I know him, ' chief among ten thousand, | the one altogether lovely!' " Blessed the Bible in which spectacled old age reads the promise, "I will never leave you, never forsake you !" Blessed the staff on which the worn-out pilgrim totters on toward the welcome of his Redeemer ! Blessed the hymn-book in which the faltering tongue and the failing eyes find Jesus, the old man's song! When my mother had been put away for the resurrection, we, the children, came to the old homestead, and each one wanted to take away a memento of her who had loved us so long, and loved us so well. I think I took away the best of all the mementoes; it was the old-fashioned, round-glass spectacles, through which she used to read her Bible, and I put them on, but they were too old for me, and I could not see across the room. But through them I could see back to childhood, and forward to the hills of heaven, where the ankles that were stiff with age have become limber again, and the spirit, with restored eye-sight, stands in rapt exultation, crying, " This is heaven !"
What shall we preach? What shall we read? Let it be Jesus, every body says; let it be Jesus. We must have one more song to-night. What shall it be, children? Aged men and women, what shall it be?' Young men and maidens, what shall it be? If you dared to break the silence, there would come up thousands of quick and jubilant voices, crying out, "Let it be Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"
We sing his birth—the barn that sheltered him, the mother that nursed him, the cattle that fed beside him, the angels that woke up the shepherds, shaking light over the midnight hills. We sing his ministry—the tears he wiped away from the eyes of the orphans; the lame men that forgot their crutches; the damsel who from the bier bounded out into the sunlight, her locks shaking down over the flushed cheek ; the hungry thousands who broke the bread as it blossomed into larger loaves—that miracle by which a boy with five loaves and two fishes became the supper for a whole array. We sing his sorrows—his stone-bruisecl feet, his aching heart, his mountain loneliness, his desert hunger, his storm-pelted body, the eternity of anguish that shot through his last moments, and the immeasurable ocean of torment that heaved up against his cross in one foaming, wrathful, omnipotent surge, the sun dashed out, and the dead, shroud wrapped, breaking open their sepulchres, and rushing out to see what was the matter. We sing his resurrection— the guard that could not keep him ; the sorrow of his disciples; the clouds piling up on either side in pillared splendors as he went through, treading the pathless air, higher and higher, until he came to the foot of the throne, and all heaven kept jubilee at the return of the
conqueror. Oh ! is there any song more appropriate for a Sabbath night than this song of Jesus? Let the passers- by in the street hear it, let the angels of God carry it amidst the thrones. Sound it out through the darkness
, Christ is the everlasting song. The very best singers sometimes get tired; the strongest throats sometimes get weary, and many who sang very sweetly do not sing now ; but I hope by the grace of God we will, after a while, go up and sing the praises of Christ where we will never be weary. You know there are some songs that are especially appropriate for the home circle. They stir the soul, they start the tears, they turn the heart in on itself, and keep sounding after the tune has stopped, like some cathedral-bell which, long after the tap of the brazen tongue has ceased, keeps throbbing on the air. Well, it will be a home song in heaven;
I wonder—Will you sing that song? Will I sing it? Not unless our sins are pardoned, and we learn now to sing the praise of Christ, will we ever sing it there. But oh, the grander scene when they shall come from the East, and from the West, and from the North, and from the South, "a great multitude that no man can number," into the temple of the skies, host beyond host, rank beyond rank, gallery above gallery, and Jesus shall stand before that great host to conduct the harmony, with his wounded hands and his wounded foot ! Like the voice of many waters, like the voice of mighty thunderings, they shall cry, "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive blessings, and riches, and honor, and glory, and power, world without end. Amen and Amen !" Oh, if my ear shall hear no other sweet sounds, may I hear that! If I join no other glad assemblage, may I join that.
I was reading this afternoon of the battle of Agincourt, in which Henry V. figured ; and it is said after the battle was won, gloriously won, the king wanted to acknowledge the divine interposition, and he ordered the chaplain to read the Psalm of David; and when he came to the words, "Not unto us, Lord, but unto thy name be the praise," the king dismounted, and all the cavalry dismounted, and all the great host, officers and men, threw themselves on their faces. Oh, at the story of the Saviour's love and the Saviour's deliverance, shall we not prostrate ourselves before him to-night, hosts of earth and hosts of heaven, falling upon our faces, and crying, ". NOT unto us, not unto us, but unto thy name be the glory!'
"I saw One hanging on a tree, In agony and blood,
Who fixed his languid eyes on me, As near his cross I stood.
' Oh, never till my latest breath Will I forget that look
He seemed to charge me with his death, Though not a word he spoke.
And that is all for you ! Ob, can you not love him? Come around this laver, old and young. It is so burnished, you can see your sins; and so deep, you can wash them all away. Oh mourner, here bathe your bruised soul; and, sick one, here cool your hot temples in this laver. Peace! Do not- cry any more, dear soul! Pardon for all thy sins, comfort for all thy afflictions. The black cloud that hung thundering over Sinai has floated above Calvary, and burst into the shower of a Saviour's tears.
A picture of Waterloo a good while after the battle had passed, and the grass had grown all over the field. There was a dismounted cannon, and a lamb had come up from the pasture and lay sleeping in the mouth of that cannon. So the artist had represented it—a most suggestive thing. Then I thought how the war between God and the soul had ended ; and instead of the announcement, " The wages of sin is death," there came the words, " My peace I give unto thee ;" and amidst the batteries of the law that had once quaked with the fiery hail of death, I beheld the Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world.
"I went to Jesus as I was, Weary, and worn, and sad : •
I found in him a resting-place, And he has made me glad."
"Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to thy bosom fly,
While the billows near me roll, While the tempest still is high.
Hide me, oh, my Saviour ! hide Till the storm of life is past,
Safe into the haven guide; Oh, receive my soul at last."
My friends, be quick. You have no time to waste. Be quick, the days of your life are going. Be quick, the hour of your death is coming. Be quick, the time of grace has almost closed with some of you ; perhaps it may be closed with some of you to-night. Be quick, lest some paralysis seize upon you, just carried out, or you have no more time only time to say as he did, putting his hand upon his heart, "Oh! oh!" and you be gone!
May God Almighty forbid that any of you, my brethren or sisters, act the part of Felix and Drusilla, and put away this great subject. If you are going to be saved ever, why not begin to-night? Throw down your sins and take the Lord's pardon. Christ has been tramping after you many a day.
An Indian and a white man became Christians. The Indian, almost as soon as he heard the Gospel, believed and was saved ; but the white man struggled on in darkness for a long while before he found light. After their peace in Christ, the white man said to the Indian, " Why was it that I was kept so long in the darkness, and you. immediately found peace ?" The Indian replied, "I will tell you. A prince comes along, and he offers you a coat. You look at your coat, and you say, ' My coat is good enough,' and you refuse his offer ; but the prince comes along and he offers me the coat, and I look at my old blanket and I throw that away, and take his offer. Yon, sir," continued the Indian, "are clinging to your own righteousness, you think you are good enough, and you keep your own righteousness ; but I have nothing, nothing, and so when Jesus offers me pardon and peace, I simply take it." My hearer, why not now throw away the worn-out blanket of your sin and take the robe of a Saviour's righteousness—a robe so white, so fair, so lustrous, that no launderer on earth can whiten it? Oh, Shepherd, bring home the lost sheep ! Oh, Father, give a welcoming kiss to the prodigal ! Oh, friend of Lazarus, to-night break down the door of the sepulchre, and say to all these dead souls as by irresistible fiat, "LIVE! LIVE!"
"Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to thy bosom fly,
While the billows near me roll, While the tempest still is high.
Hide me, oh, my Saviour ! hide Till the storm of life is past,
Safe into the haven guide; Oh, receive my soul at last."
There must be an infinite and radical change in every man's heart, or he cannot come within ten thousand miles of heaven. There must be an earthquake in his soul. shaking down his sins, and there must be the trumpet-blast of Christ's resurrection bringing him up from the depths of sin and darkness into the glorious life of the Gospel. Do you know why more men do not come to Christ ? It is because men are not invited that they do not come. You get a general invitation from your friend : " Come round, some time to my house and dine with me." You do not go. But he says, " Come around to-day at four o'clock, and bring your family, and we'll dine together." And you say, "I don't know as I have any engagement : I will come." " I expect you at four o'clock." And you go. The world feels it is a general invitation to come around some time and sit at the great Gospel feast, and brother, come to Christ ; come now—come now ! "
How was it that so many thousands came to Jesus? Because those men did nothing else but invite them to come.
They spent their lifetime uttering invitations, and they did not mince matters either ? Where did John Bunyan's pilgrim start from ? Did he start from some easy, quiet, cozy place ? No ; if you have read John Bunyan's " Pilgrim's Progress.~ you know where he started from, and that was the City of Destruction, where every sinner starts from. Do you know what Livingstone, the Scotch minister, was preaching about in Scotland when three hundred souls, under one sermon, came to Christ ? He was preaching about the human heart as unclean, and hard, and stony. Do you know what George Whitefield was preaching about in his first sermon, when fifteen souls saw the salvation of God? It was this : "Ye must be born again." Do you know what is the last subject he ever preached upon ? " Flee the wrath to come." Oh ! that the Lord God would come into our pulpits, and prayer-meetings, and Christian circles, and bring us from our fine rhetoric and profound metaphysics, and our elegant hair-splitting, to the old-fashioned well of Gospel Invitation.
CHRIST is everything in the great plan of Redemption-
We are slaves ; Christ gives deliverance to the captive.
We are thirsty ; Christ is the river of salvation to slake our thirst.
We are hungry ; Jesus says, " I am the bread of life."
We are condemned to die ; Christ says, " Save that man from going down to the pit ; I am the ransom."
We are tossed on a sea of troubles ; Jesus comes over it, saying, " It is I, be not afraid."
We are in darkness; Jesus says, "I am the bright and the morning-star."
We are sick ; Jesus is the balm of Gilead.
We are dead ; hear the shrouds rend and the grave hillocks heave as he cries, " I am the resurrection and the life ;
he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall live."
We want justification ; " Being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ."
We want to exercise faith ; " Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved."
I want to get from under condemnation ; " There is now, therefore, no condemnation to them who are in Christ Jesus." The cross—He carried it. The flames of hell—He suffered them. The shame—He endured it. The crown—He won it. Heights of heaven sing it, and worlds of light to worlds of light all round the heavens cry, " Glory, glory!"
"Christ is my Hope, my Strength and Guide; For me He bled, and groaned and died :
He is my Sun to give me light, He is my soul's supreme delight.
" Christ is the source of all my bliss, My wisdom and my righteousness,
My Saviour, Brother, and my friend; On Him alone I now depend."
How many thorns he hath plucked out of human agony ! Oh ! He knows too well what it is to carry a cross, not to help us carry ours. He knows too well what it is to climb the mountain, not to help us up the steep.
" Christ is my king to rule and bless And all my trouble to redress ;
He's my salvation and my all, Whate'er on earth shall me befall."
" I know that my Redeemer lives, What comfort this sweet sentence gives !
He lives, He lives, who once was dead. He lives, my ever-living Head !
" He lives to grant me daily breath. He lives, and I shall conquer death.
He lives, my mansion to prepare, He lives, to bring me safely there.
" He lives, all giory tc His name, He lives, my Jesus still the same ',
Oh, the sweet joy this sentence gives, I know that my Redeemer lives ! "
# posted by Groseys messages @ 8:27 PM 
