"The Sands of Time Are Sinking" by Anne Ross Cousin (1824-1906) and Samuel Rutherford (1600-1661)
Christ’s honeycombs drop honey and floods of consolation upon my soul; my chains are gold. Were my blackness and Christ’s beauty carded through other, His beauty and holiness would eat up my filthiness. The secret formula of the saints: When I am in the cellar of affliction, I look for the Lord’s choicest wines.
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