I haven’t posted a Sunday Hymn in quite some time, but after spending the last few days at our annual singing school in Jasper, AL, they’re on my mind.
My kids love “Dripping from the Cross,” a hymn by L.B. Leister (1885-1968), and our 17-year-old daughter has led it in congregational singing more than once at singing school.
For me, the imagery is blunt, the words raw. I have trouble singing this one without tears.
I got a grammar lesson while typing it. I recently discussed the use of ’til, till, and until with my two youngest daughters and it turns out I was wrong in some of what I told them. Oops. Old dog, new tricks.
Dripping from the Cross
Guilty nail-pierced holy vein,
Jesus bore the loss;
There was blood with holy pain,
Dripping from the cross.
Jesus, Thou hast loved us so,
Tho’ we be so gross;
Saved us by the living flow,
Dripping from the cross.
Sick and faint my soul did seem,
Poisoned by sin’s dross;
But relief came by the stream,
Dripping from the cross.
Tho’tless that for sin I owe,
Counted not my loss;
Grateful now to view the flow,
Dripping from the cross.
Wordly pleasures once my dream,
Tempted by their gloss;
Till I saw the scarlet stream,
Dripping from the cross.
All because He loved us so,
He sustained the crimson flow;
Keep my heart fixed on Thy woe,
Dripping from the cross.
Our Adorable Grandson
One of the highlights of singing school was spending time with our new grandson, who turns 3 months old today. Precious!
The Job Update
I keep telling my husband he’s almost employed; it sure seems so. I will shout it from the rooftops when it happens, but for now just know we are grateful for every prayer, kind comment, and email you’ve sent. It means a lot.
