In Thy Storehouse (and others)

In Thy Storehouse (and others)

There are riches in Thy storehouse,
But, my Lord, we are so poor.
There is power in Thy storehouse,
But the cripple clothes our door.
There is wisdom in Thy storehouse,
But in ignorance we grope.
There's revival in Thy storehouse,
But we've millions without hope.

There is freedom in Thy storehouse,
But Thy people are so bound.
There is glory in Thy storehouse,
But it does not shine around.
There is love within Thy storehouse,
But Thy people are so dry.
There's compassion in Thy storehouse -
Then my Saviour, why, of why
Are Thy people stony-hearted
And our eyes so desert dry?

_Leonard Ravenhill~
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The Heathen

I'm gazing now in the jungle green
With a people whose bodies, not fit to be seen,
Are crusted with dirt and distorted in belly,
With louse-packed hair and revoltingly smelly,
A woman now swings her naked breast
To the mouth of a babe who was never dressed.

She sits in a house with mangy dogs
(The best of the room is reserved for hogs).
The husband knows nothing of horses or cows,
But boasts his wealth by his fertile sows.
The place is fit only for hogs and dogs
That snooze by the fire of smoldering logs.

I have seen them crouched in the desert heat,
I have heard the thud of their unshod feet,
I have seen them shake an unwashed head
As they cringed at the feet of their unsaved dead.
O God, it seems to be madly absurd
That they knew not Christ or Thy holy Word.

They have gone to hell while we slept in our pews;
While we argued doctrine, we denied them news.
We've reclined in plush and saved our knees,
We have had it lush and forgotten these
Who grope in fear in the heathen night.
Had we loved them once, we'd have sent them light.

O Christ, by the power of Thy holy Name,
Give Thy flabby Church a heart of shame.
Smite her cold conscience, buckle her knees,
That she has lacked concern for these
Who have, generation by generation,
Been lost to Thine own "so great a salvation."

Oh God, on that day, that Judgment Day,
When homes and banks have been swept away,
And there is no place of habitation
For any man in any nation,
Then every man must stand alone
Before the King on His judgment throne.

What shall I do when the heathen stand
and accuse that I seldom lent a hand
To save them from pain and eternal woe,
And stayed in my ease but made others go
With a message I knew, I knew full well
Could save them from sin and fear and hell?

O God, my God, in that dreadful day
When all excuses are tossed away
And there's no time left to repent or cry
As earthly treasures in ashes lie,
Then Lord, oh, Lord, what shall I say
For the money and time I have frettered away?

~Leonard Ravenhill~
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Calvary's Tree

I know that I shall never see
A tree like that on Calvary,
A tree on which men, poor and blind,
Defiled the Saviour of mankind.
That sin was done by fools like me,
But God Himself was on that tree!

I love to think, as He hung there -
No eye to pity, none to care,
Victim of hate, betrayed and cursed,
Cut off from God, dying in thirst -
I love to think He thought of me
When hanging there upon the tree.

I joy to know He'll come again,
Who on a tree by man was slain,
I'll count myself among the wise
Who wait His coming from the skies;
Not from a tree, but from a throne
He soon shall rule this world alone.

(Dedicated to Gary Johnson)

~Leonard Ravenhill~