ORDINATION HYMN by CHARLES SPRAGUE

OUR fathers, Lord, to seek a spot,
Where they might kneel to thee,
Their own fair heritage forgot,
And braved an unknown sea

Here found their pilgrim souls repose,
Where long the heathen roved,
And here their humble anthems rose,
To bless the Power they loved.

They sleep in dust — but where they trod,
A feeble, fainting band,
Glad millions catch the strain, O God,
And sound it through the land.

Come, Lord, to this new temple now,
Thy servant here behold;
In thy dread name he breathes his vow,
To guard this little fold.

Long may he stand thy herald here,
Thy lessons to impart;
From every eye to wipe the tear,
The stain from every heart; —

In paths of peace to bid them tread,
Where no vain feuds arise,
And from his life a lustre shed,
To light them to the skies.

So, when the last, long night shall go,
The last, glad morning break,
When all that walked in truth below
In joy above shall wake, —

There may thy servant, Lord, be found,
The chosen of thy Son,
And hear from him the glorious sound,
"Well done, beloved one!"

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