A Little Flock! So Calls He Thee

A lit­tle flock! So calls He thee

Who bought thee with His blood;

A lit­tle flock

dis­owned of men

But owned and loved of God.

A lit­tle flock! So calls He thee;

Church of the first-born

hear!

Be not ashamed to own the name;

It is no name of fear.

A lit­tle flock! Yes

ev­en so;

A hand­ful among men

Such is the pur­pose of thy God;

So will­eth He

Amen!

Not ma­ny rich or no­ble called

Not ma­ny great or wise;

They whom God makes His kings and priests

Are poor in hu­man eyes.

Church of the ev­er­last­ing God

The Fa­ther’s gra­cious choice

Amid the voic­es of this earth

How fee­ble is thy voice!

Thy words amid the words of earth

How noise­less and how low!

Amid the hur­ry­ing crowds of time

Thy steps how calm and slow!

But ’mid the wrin­kled brows of earth

Thy brow how free from care;

’Mid the flushed cheeks of ri­ot here

Thy cheek how pale and fair!

Amid the rest­less eyes of earth

How stead­fast is thine eye

Fixed on the si­lent love­li­ness

Of the far east­ern sky.

A lit­tle flock! ’Tis well

’tis well;

Such be her lot and name;

Thro’ ag­es past it has been so

And now ’tis still the same.

But the chief Shep­herd comes at length;

Her fee­ble days are o’er

No more a hand­ful in the earth

A lit­tle flock no more.

No more a li­ly among thorns;

Weary

and faint

and few

But count­less as the stars of heav­en

Or as the ear­ly dew.

Then en­ter­ing the eter­nal halls

In robes of vic­to­ry

That migh­ty mul­ti­tude shall keep

The joy­ous ju­bi­lee.

Unfading palms they bear aloft

Unfaltering songs they sing;

Unending fes­tiv­al they keep

In pre­sence of the King.