the eyes of faith

I am thine, O Lord, I have heard thy voice,
and it told thy love to me;
but I long to rise in the arms of faith
and be closer drawn to thee.

Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
to the cross where thou hast died.
Draw me nearer, nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
to thy precious, bleeding side.

Consecrate me now to thy service, Lord,
by the power of grace divine;
let my soul look up with a steadfast hope,
and my will be lost in thine.

Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
to the cross where thou hast died.
Draw me nearer, nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
to thy precious, bleeding side.

O the pure delight of a single hour
that before thy throne I spend,
when I kneel in prayer, and with thee, my God,
I commune as friend with friend!

Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
to the cross where thou hast died.
Draw me nearer, nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
to thy precious, bleeding side.


In true fashion of the Holy Spirits ever-present work, I was struck profoundly by these lyrics this Monday night at the high school concert. As one who is in the “creative” industry, I can very quickly respect and be awestruck by the vision and thoughts of others. I might have passed this hymn on by, powerful as the lyrics are, had I not happened to see the author.

Frances Jane Crosby wrote this hymn, along with more than 8,000 others, with a very unique perspective. At the age of 6 weeks, and at the hand of an incompetent doctor, Fanny was blinded for life. When I saw who it was who had penned these lyrics, and then reread the lyrics, I was truly amazed.

Being blind, Fanny would not have known “visually” what it meant to “draw near.” She would never have known “visually” what it means to “rise in the arms,” “kneel in prayer” or to “look up with steadfast hope.” She would have never seen what a “bleeding side” looked like, she would never have known what a throne looked like or ever known what the cross looked like. Fanny would never have seen the blond haired, blue eyed Jesus and the towering “gold” flannel-graph visions of heaven that we all grew up with.

I can’t help but wish immensely to know what Fanny “saw.” I would love to have seen the images that this woman of God had seen and conjured up from simply hearing the words of Scripture. I feel that the images she saw, and truly, what inspired her to write so prolifically as to remain the most written hymnist in history, were images that only the purist, undiluted relationship could afford. I have to admit that I long for the “eyes of faith” that this elderly woman had.