GATHER THEM IN | AdventAI

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Nov 4, 1875

GATHER THEM IN.

In the courts of the Master's temple Shall listless footsteps fall? And banners that no breeze has touched Hang drooping from the wall? Shall we sit idly waiting Some summons from afar, While here in the lanes and by-ways The faint and suffering are? From the arid hills, from the valleys swept By the dark simoon of sin, With the words of love our hearts have kept We gather the children in— From the haunts where sorrow and crime have rule, We gather them in to the Sabbath-school.

Oh, the weary, weary children, Who, knowing no fond home ties, Grow up in their haunts of misery, Cunning and sadly wise; Oh, the outcast, sorrowing children, Whom no kind hand hath led; Whose bleeding feet at the flinty path, Pain-racked and suffering, tread! From the drunkard's home, from the miser's grasp, With their pallid cheeks, and thin— From the outlaw's lair, with their stolid eyes, We gather them fondly in; And patiently teach the Saviour's rule Of love to all, in the mission-school.

We yield the gospel's sweet repose To hearts where hope is dead, And bid them join their song with those Of children gently led, Who know the blissful story, How Jesus died to save, And the joys of saints and glory— The rest beyond the grave. From the storm and strife of a crime-stained life, From the dens where their feet have been, From the pains they bear in want's grim jail, We gather the children in; And patiently teach love's golden rule, To rich and poor in the Sabbath-school.

From the frivolous homes of fashion, From the haunts where lust of gain, That one absorbing passion, Leads forth corruption's train; From envy, hate, and malice, And all unkindly thought— We would shield the heir of the palace, And the child of the humblest cot— From the binding ties of the worldly wise, Their aching hearts to win, To the home of peace where bickerings cease, We gather them fondly in; And hope and love hold joyous rule, O'er rich and poor in the Sabbath-school.

Come over and help us, ye who sit At ease at the temple's gate; The fields are white to the harvest, yet What sheaves for the sickle wait! The time will come when ye'll look with pain O'er the Master's fallow ground, And weep in vain for the wasted grain That should be in your garners found. How blest a toil from the world's turmoil, To gather this infant choir; On the heart's cold shrine with touch divine, To kindle the sacred fire; And earnestly teach the Saviour's rule Of love to all, in the Sabbath-school!

—Sel.