Dear Lord, on This Thy Servant’s Day

Dear Lord

on this Thy serv­ant’s day

Who left for Thee the gold and mart

Who heard Thee whis­per

Come away

And fol­lowed with a sin­gle heart

Give us

amid earth’s wea­ry moil

And wealth for which men cark and care

’Mid for­tune’s pride

and need’s wild toil

And brok­en hearts in pur­ple rare

Give us Thy grace to rise above

The glare of this world’s smelt­ing fires;

Let God’s great love put out the love

Of gold

and gain

and low de­sires.

Still

like a breath from scent­ed lime

Borne in­to rooms where sick men faint

His voice comes float­ing through all time

Thine own ev­an­gel­ist and saint.

Still sweet­ly rings the Gos­pel strain

Of gold­en store that knows not rust:

The love of Christ is more than gain

And heav’n­ly crowns than yel­low dust.