1 Thou who didst bid Thy foll’wers here
Proclaim a Saviour’s love abroad,
With holy zeal our souls inspire,
That all our aim and our desire
May be to glorify our God!
Spirit Divine! baptize anew
These feeble hearts with heav’nly flame,
Breathe on these bones that they may live,
These dumb lips ope, and boldness give
To publish forth a Saviour’s name.
2 The harvest, Master, is so great,
The laborers are sadly few,
But Thou dost bid us onward press,
And well we know Thou’lt own and bless
The little joy that we strive to do.
Full many, Lord, in distant lands
Are strangers to Thy love and grace,
They have not heard the Gospel call
Of full salvation, free to all
Of every kindred, every race.
3 And must they perish—precious souls,
In ignorance and sin and strife?
Shall they for whom the Saviour died
In darkness pine, unsatisfied,
While we enjoy the Bread of Life?
O blessed privilege, to speed
The Gospel chariot on its way!
O highest privilege to sing
The praises of our Lord and King
And tell His wonders day by day.
4 Rouse, Christian Soldiers! Raise aloft
The standard of the Living Word,
Ye must uphold the true and right,
The wrong ye must resist and fight,
And battle for a risen Lord.
Ye may not tell in heathen lands
The message of redeeming love,
But ye may pray, “Thy Kingdom come,”
And help to win some wand’rer home
Into the Shepherd’s fold above.