Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Doers of the Word

The Doers of the Word.

I sing the Doers of the Word, The Flower of human kind,Who hear the summons of the Lord, And quick their girdles bind.They wait not for the bridal day, When forth to battle led;They leave behind the faint to pray, The dead to bury the dead.

'Tis theirs to die that Truth may live, To face the hissing hail;With woe and foe alike to strive, Till right o'er wrong prevail.'Tis theirs the tyrant sword to smite, The bondsman to release,And usher in the welcome light Of earth's millennial peace.

I sing the Doers of the Word, Whom angel wings have fanned,And filled with love and joy unheard To scatter through the land. Where hunger cries, and shivering winds Wail round the shattered door,Their willing step an entrance finds To bless the helpless poor.

The Doers of the Word I sing, Who with a generous heartTheir sacrifice to duty bring, And well perform their part;Nor parley they with weak excuse, Nor at their lot repine,But give, and say, This Heaven may use, For it is Heaven's, not mine.

Ye dreamers wild! eschew the trance Which fond illusion weaves,And spurn the idle thought that chance Will bring you golden sheaves.But when the loud alarm is rung, To action prompt be stirred,And wrestle strong to rank among The Doers of the Word.