"The poor, the suffering poor,"--He said,
Who, from his garment's very hem
A healing virtue round him shed,--
"Shall have the Gospel preached to them."
Yes! He, upon whose houseless head
The stars dropped many a dewy gem,
Broke, for the poor, the living bread
He brought from heaven, and gave it them.
Beneath the shade that branch hath spread,
Which shot out green from Jesse's stem,
These wandering poor are gathered
To have the Gospel preached to them.
He, who with oxen made his bed,--
The houseless Babe of Bethlehem,--
These houseless babes hath hither led,
To have his Gospel preached to them.
Lord, bless thy servant, who hath fed
These lambs of thine, and help him stem
The tide of sin, with fearless tread,
And preach the Gospel unto them.
May not the soul of each be said,
O God, to be a priceless gem?
Give them to him, who for them bled,
To sparkle in his diadem!
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