HE CALLETH HIS OWN by Hattie C. Kelley

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Feb 10, 1898

“HE CALLETH HIS OWN.”

By Hattie C. Kelley

THE Saviour gently whispers:

“My child, give Me thy grief. In patience long I’ve waited For thee to ask relief. I know thou long hast borne it; O, why the burden bear? I’ve promised all to carry; I will thy sorrow share.

“I gave Myself a ransom And died upon the tree; O blood-bought, guilty sinner, What hast thou done for Me? I’ve searched all o’er the mountains, I’ve called My sheep by name; I’ve borne them in My bosom When they were weak and lame.

“And still I’m calling, calling, O’er mountain, vale, and hill, ‘Come unto Me, ye thirsty, And whosoever will.’ The fount of life is flowing, Its waters still are free; ’Twill give thee full salvation; O stoop and drink and see!

“Let go of self, poor sinner, And clasp thy hand in Mine; Now be ye My disciple, Abiding in the Vine. In love the Father purgeth, That ye more fruit may bear; The branches are His planting, The tender fruit His care.

“The pruning seemeth grievous, But afterward there’s rest.” I know we’re prone to wander— I know God’s way is best. He pardons my transgressions; O, wond’rous love to tell! I’ll praise Him for His goodness, For truly all is well.

HATTIE C. KELLEY. Crystal Valley, Mich.