Your Own

What if your own were starv­ing

Fainting with fam­ine

pain;

And you should know where gold­en grow

Rich fruits and rip­ened grain;

Would you hear their wail

As a thrice-told tale

And turn to your feast again?

They are Christ’s own

they are your own

Soon will their hopes be flown

Rescue them ere they’re gone.

What if your own were thirst­ing

And nev­er a drop would gain

And you could tell where a spark­ling well

Poured forth me­lo­dious rain;

Would you turn aside

While they gasped and died

And leave them to their pain?

What if your own were dark­ened

Without one cheer­ing ray

And you alone could show where shone

The pure

sweet light of day;

Would you leave them there

In their dark des­pair

And sing on your sun­lit way?

What if your own were wan­d’ring

Far in a track­less maze

And you could show them where to go

Along your plea­sant ways?

Would your heart be light

Till the path­way right

Was plain be­fore their gaze?

What if your own were pri­soned

Far in a hos­tile land

And the on­ly key to set them free

Was held at your com­mand;

Would you breathe free air

While they sti­fled there

And wait and fold your hands?

Yet

what else are we do­ing

Dear ones

by Christ made free

If we will not tell what we know so well

To those across the sea

Who have nev­er heard

One ten­der word

Of the Lamb of Cal­va­ry?

They are not our own

you an­swer?

They are nei­ther kith nor kin.

They are God’s own: His love alone

Can save them from their sin;

They are Christ’s own:

He left His throne

And died

their souls to win.