Worthy art thou, O Lord of praise!
But ah! it’s not in me;
My sinking heart I pray thee raise,
So shall I give it thee.
My life as spider’s web’s cut off
Thus fainting have I said,
And living man no more shall see
But be in silence laid.
My feeble spirit thou didst revive
My doubting thou didst chide
And as dead mad’st me alive
I here a while might abide.
Why should I live but to thy praise?
My life is hid in thee.
O Lord, no longer be my days,
Then I may fruitful be.
In chapter 11 of his sermons on the book of Acts, James Montgomery Boice wrote that no church is perfect:
There is no perfect church, not even the Church of the apostles. I read Acts 4:32, “All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they shared everything they had,” and I think, ah, there is the perfect church. But even this church had Ananias and Sapphira in it.
Someone once told girls Spurgeon that they were leaving his church because they were going to find the perfect church. Spurgeon, that a great deal of wit and sometimes was more forthright than people there to be today, said, “When you find it, please don’t join it, because you’ll ruin it.”