Hymns of Passion: The Potter’s Field

This hymn reflects on the purchase of the potter’s field with the money that Judas received for betraying Jesus, read about it in Matthew 27:1-10. There is so much going on, with parable and metaphor being employed so well, I thought about only sharing a sample, but the whole thing is worth reading.

As we have said before,
Judas cast on the floor
The silver he had taken,
And turned away forsaken.

The priests a bargain sealed
To buy a potter’s field,
To make a cemetery
Where the strangers they cold bury.

A parable is seen
In this, a truth to glean,
As God pleased to inspire
The prophet Zechariah.

Isaiah also told
That, as in potter’s mould,
Our God seeks in compassion
His co-workers to fashion.

He made from earthly clay,
That sixth creation’s Day,
Some for a high vocation,
Some for a lesser station.

Our Lord still owns a field –
His ownership is sealed.
Recall His mercy proffered,
To weary pilgrims offered.

Jesus is He Who bought
That field – and not for nought.
’Twas only by His dying,
God’s justice satisfying.

The strangers here were we,
All by divine decree
From Eden’s rest excluded,
From Paradise precluded.

Our evil state, alas,
Has brought us to this pass,
And made us outlaws all,
Through father Adam’s fall.

Our banished spirit sighs,
An exile from the skies,
A slave held in subjection
In darkness and dejection.

Death in an ambush waits
When our strife terminates.
Flesh Nature’s law obeys
All in the earth decays.

Then seeks the outcast soul
Vainly to find its goal,
Gains – it is my belief –
Nor content, nor relief

Jesus our state beheld;
He came, by love impelled,
And His own self He gave us,
From our dark fate to save us.

This was the Father’s will,
If Jesus could fulfill
All the claims of righteousness
For our sins to make redress.

Jesus the ransom paid
And restoration made,
Thorn-crowned, with bitter scourging
By death our misdeeds purging.

There He was crucified,
Justice was satisfied.
Hereby the “potter’s field”
For strangers is revealed.

When from our frame’s decay
Our soul has winged its way,
Then dawns without a sorrow
God’s merciful tomorrow.

This field was meant for them,
Who chose Jerusalem,
The place of their residing
For ever there abiding.

God’s children, great and small,
“Jerusalem” we call –
All who His grace receive
And in His Name believe.

All in this city’s pale
Jesus as Saviour hale,
Baptised are in His Name,
His glory is their aim.

Happy indeed am I,
Who on His word rely.
His mercy will receive me,
His presence never leave me.

Though, gripped by death’s decay,
My body pass away,
My soul on Thee relying
Rests safe, all ill defying.

My Saviour, Thee I praise,
Who stooped, my soul to raise,
Thy mercy manifesting,
With Thy “field” I’m resting.

That field Thou gav’st for me,
I give my all to Thee.
With that dear love Thou gavest,
My heart and soul enslavest.

Saviour, I, at Thy feet,
While this my heart shall beat,
Lay down a true oblation
Of thanks for my salvation.

I humbly ask of Thee
That Thou would’st grant to me,
That my dust in the ground
Of Thy field may be found.

That “corn of wheat” shall rise
Triumphant to the skies
And when Thy sheaves are clustered
My soul will then be

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