Frederick William Pitt (1859-1943) was a pastor in London who was known for his doctrinal writings and poetry/hymns. This thoughtful hymn, The Maker of the Universe, captures truth pertaining to the hypostatic union, that Christ is fully God and man.
The Maker of the UniverseAs man for man was made a curse;The claims of laws which He had made,Unto the uttermost He paid.His holy fingers made the boughWhich grew the thorns that crowned His brow.The nails that pierced his hands were minedIn secret places He designed;He made the forests whence there sprungThe tree on which His body hung.He died upon a cross of wood,Yet made the hill on which it stood.The sky that darkened o’er His headBy Him above the earth was spread;The sun that hid from Him its faceBy His decree was poised in space;The spear that spilled His precious bloodWas tempered in the fires of God.The grave in which His form was laidWas hewn in rock His hands had made;The throne on which He now appearsWas His from everlasting years;But a new glory crowns His brow,And every knee to Him shall bow.
Be still, my soul: the Lord is on your side; Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain. Leave to your God to order and provide; In every change He faithful will remain. Be still, my soul: your best, your heavenly Friend Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.
Be still, my soul: your God will undertake To guide the future as He has the past. Your hope, your confidence let nothing shake; All now mysterious shall be bright at last. Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.
Be still, my soul: when dearest friends depart, And all is darkened in the vale of tears, Then shall you better know His love, His heart, Who comes to soothe your sorrow and your fears. Be still, my soul: your Jesus can repay From His own fullness all He takes away.
Be still, my soul: the hour is hastening on When we shall be forever with the Lord, When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone, Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored. Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past, All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.
Come, Thou Fount of every blessing, Tune my heart to sing Thy grace; Streams of mercy, never ceasing, Call for songs of loudest praise. Teach me some melodious sonnet, Sung by flaming tongues above. Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it, Mount of Thy redeeming love.
Sorrowing I shall be in spirit, Till released from flesh and sin, Yet from what I do inherit, Here Thy praises I’ll begin; Here I raise my Ebenezer; Here by Thy great help I’ve come; And I hope, by Thy good pleasure, Safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger, Wandering from the fold of God; He, to rescue me from danger, Interposed His precious blood; How His kindness yet pursues me Mortal tongue can never tell, Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me I cannot proclaim it well.
O to grace how great a debtor Daily I’m constrained to be! Let Thy goodness, like a fetter, Bind my wandering heart to Thee. Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, Prone to leave the God I love; Here’s my heart, O take and seal it, Seal it for Thy courts above.
O that day when freed from sinning, I shall see Thy lovely face; Clothed then in blood washed linen How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace; Come, my Lord, no longer tarry, Take my ransomed soul away; Send thine angels now to carry Me to realms of endless day.
Teach me the measure of my days,Thou Maker of my frame;I would survey life’s narrow space,And learn how frail I am.A span is all that we can boast,An inch or two of time;Man is but vanity and dustIn all his flower and prime.See the vain race of mortals moveLike shadows o’er the plain;They rage and strive, desire and love,But all the noise is vain.Some walk in honor’s gaudy show,Some dig for golden ore;They toil for heirs, they know not who,And straight are seen no more.What should I wish or wait for, then,From creatures earth and dust?They make our expectations vain,And disappoint our trust.Now I forbid my carnal hope,My fond desires recall;I give my mortal interest up,And make my God my all.
I and the Father led Christ to the cross, Together we placed Him there; I pushed Him forward, no care for the cost, His Father’s wrath to bear. Christ in the middle not wanting to die, Knelt in the garden and prayed; Great tears of blood the Savior did cry, Yet His Father He humbly obeyed.
So He carried His cross down a dusty trail, No words on His lips were found; No cry was uttered as I drove the nails, His arms to the cross were bound. I lifted my Savior with arms spread wide, He hung between heaven and earth; I raised my spear and pierced His side, What flowed was of infinite worth.
Like a Lamb to the altar Christ did go, A sacrifice without blemish or spot; A knife was raised, and life did flow, In a basin the blood was caught. Past the incense table and the dark black veil, To that holy of holy places; The blood of Christ was made to avail, And all my sins it erases.
Now this Lamb on a cross was a demonstration Of the Father’s love for me; For the Savior’s death brought satisfaction, Redeemed, and set me free. Now I come to the Savior by faith alone, Not trusting in works at all; Jesus my substitute for sin did atone, Salvation in answer to His call.