And ever didst thou strive with patient tread
To seek and save the lost, for whom thy Saviour bled.
IV.
Say, hadst thou known, all lowly as thou art,
Prone of thyself such slight account to make,
How strong the ties that from so many a heart
Twin'd round thy spirit for thy Master's sake—
Childhood's blanched lip, that trembled as it spake,
And white-haired age, that shunned the parting look,
While from dark hut, and courtly hall did break
Such sound of weeping that thy manhood shook,
Couldst thou have known it all, and yet our love forsook?
V.
Hence, selfish thought, and hide thee in the dust!
Shall our own separate good absorb our care?
And ne'er another's gain, or joyful trust,
Give ardor to our gratulating prayer?
Christ's family alike His favor share,
And ill should we within His blessed fold
Deserve a place, if haughtily we dare
To gloat exulting o'er our garner'd gold,
Nor heed a sister-flock, that roam the mountains cold.
VI.
Yet ah, forget us not! though far away
'Neath happier skies, thy hallow'd course be run,
Think of our vales, where sleeps the autumnal ray,
Our placid river, sparkling in the sun,
Haunts, where thy laurels from the muse were won,
