ARMENIA
I
O fair Lord Christ, when yet thy face was young
In heaven, and thy witnesses were few,
Humble thy Kingdom here, nor yet grace drew
Emperors to the breast where Lazarus clung,—
When round a dying world thy arms were flung,—
Armenia first unto thy mercies flew,
To the pure gospel through all ages true,
And Him, whose sorrows on the world's cross hung.
She, who beheld the glorious covenant,
When o'er the Flood, at the Creative Word,
Bright above Ararat sprang the bow in heaven,—
What to her agony will thy pity grant?
For unto her through faith in thee, O Lord,
The thorny crown of Christendom is given.
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