“His People”

HE set us free—

To bear the yoke—

“Let them serve Me,”

’Twas thus He spoke.

He called us “Mine,”

Not for desire,

To be call’d Thine

Meant sword and fire,

And anguish sharp—

In ev’ry land

The exile’s harp

Forgot his hand.

They reap’d their own;

God’s Acre ours!

On graves alone,

Might we grow flowers.

But oh! worth while,

Strong love divine

Outcast, or vile—

To be call’d Thine.

To feel Thy love

Like shepherding—

Like brooding dove,

Like eagle’s wing!

As mothers speak

To sons distrest,

The sore and weak

Thou comfortest.

Oh! worth the cost,

And welcome pain!

World’s love well lost

Thy love to gain.

We will serve Thee,

As Jacob swore,

“This God shall be

Mine evermore!”

His oath we swear,

His blessing take;

Thy yoke we bear

For Thy name’s sake!