CONGREGATION OF GOD by A. W. Parsons

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Feb 20, 1896

CONGREGATION OF GOD.

By A. W. Parsons

BY PROF. A. W. PARSONS.

Thy Congregation, O my God, How perfect are her ways! The fair “ecclesia” thou dost build In sanctity and praise, On revelation’s solid rock; With thee, our Sovereign, Lord, The Holy Spirit leadeth her To know and keep thy word.

The word inspires that she may hear, “Whom do you say I am?” The question comes with tenderness, That stirs the soul from calm; Then comes the answer from thy throne (And no saint can deny), “Thou art the Christ, the Son of God,” Who came for men to die.

Thy name is used with flaming sound, To cover up men’s shame, By pedagogues who prowl about In search for worldly fame; A steeple looms on every vale, Engraven as the ark, And each one leads to heathen Baal, And bears that idol’s mark.

How long, how long, my God, how long Shall this proud “Babel” grow? How long until thy gathered throng Shall lay his bulwarks low? The work, O God, belongs to thee, While we thy workers are; We toil with joy, but long to hail The glad delivering Star!

We pine at times and sorrows feel, But never, never faint, For life eternal stands in view To every faithful saint; Behold his presence ’waiting us, With crowns that never fade— For these we live, for these we teach, As God the plan hath laid.

We know that he will surely come, Nor tarry in that hour, And that our work on earth will sum The verdict of his power. Ye white-robed saints, stand free of stain, Be strong, and ne’er give down, For thus in faith we toil and gain SALVATION AND ITS CROWN.

Marshalltown, Iowa.