There is Light above the solar,
Though unseen to mortal view,
Yet when a secret glimpse is gained,
We are conscious it is true.
We feel 'tis true, for the Father
When His offspring ask for bread
Will never mock their trustfulness,
Giving them a stone instead.
Precious glimpses! Though they tell us
We are still in leading string,
Yet each one some truth unfolding,
Its own joy and peace doth bring.
Joy, to know that we are growing
In the Truth which maketh free:
Peace, which comes through understanding
That growing we shall always be;
Growing till our babehood ceaseth
And leading strings shall disappear.
Till child and youthhood both shall vanish,
And ripe manhood draweth near;
Growing till we stand accepted
In the well-beloved Son,
When He presents us to the Father
Clothed in raiment like His own.
Yes! there's a Light above the solar,
Brightening all the rugged way:
Growing clearer and still clearer,
Till we hear our Father say,—
"Well done thou good and faithful one!
Thou hast conquered all of sin:
Thy Father's house is ope to thee,
Receive thy crown and enter in."
