Inasmuch

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D.C. · Oct 8, 1903

There's a song of welcome waits Every life of pure endeavor; Every work that love creates Lives on high, a name forever. Humble hearts may hide their worth, But the Lord himself will own it, Answering for his suffering earth, “Inasmuch as ye have done it Unto these.”

In your mission of relief, In your helpful self-denying, In the touch that comforts grief, In the word that guides the dying,— Whispers Christ of Nazareth, Sweeter than an angel’s sonnet, On the other side of death, “Inasmuch as ye have done it Unto these.”

Fill the empty, lift the lost, Buy the slave the right God gave him, Prize the sinner at his cost To the heart that bled to save him, And the deed, though incomplete, Bears his signet star upon it When you lay it at his feet, “Inasmuch as ye have done it Unto these.”

— The Vanguard.