(Author’s note: what can I say? the title doesn’t have spellcheck on it. I’m forced to think before I type. So I know it’s spelled ‘idolatry’ and not ‘idolotry’.) (sorry people)
Who is this that sits enthroned,
Yet again on my foolish heart?
What rebel idols have I owned?
When will I feel Love’s healing smart?
This battlefield, tis ne’er a place,
For foreign loves, or straying eyes,
Why stands this soldier in disgrace?
Did he not hear the battlecry?
Tis such foolish unbelief,
Wood, stone, or flesh, it matters not
You passions will be put to grief,
And all this fleeting dross will rot.
Draw ye nigh to glory’s King,
Who’s raised the wondrous Mercy-Seat,
Your loves, your hates, your everything
Lay all possessions at His feet.
Despise your every rebel love,
In heaven lay your treasure stores,
Present yourself to God above,
“All that I have, my King, is Yours.”
Let all your idols be abhorred,
Your needs have all been satisfied
In Him you find the sweet reward
His love an endless feast supplies.