HYMN.— THE WORD OF PROMISE

LORD, Thou hast led us as of old

Thine Arm led forth the chosen Race

Through Foes that raged, through Floods that roll'd,

To Canaan's far-off Dwelling-Place.

Here is Thy bounteous Table spread,

Thy Manna falls on every Field,

Thy Grace our hungering Souls hath fed,

Thy Might hath been our Spear and Shield.

Lift high Thy Buckler, Lord of Hosts!

Guard Thou Thy Servants, Sons and Sires,

While on the Godless heathen Coasts

They light Thine Israel's Altar-fires!

The salvage Wilderness remote

Shall hear Thy Works and Wonders sung;

So from the Rock that Moses smote

The Fountain of the Desart sprung.

Soon shall the slumbering Morn awake,

From wandering Stars of Errour freed,

When Christ the Bread of Heaven shall break

For Saints that own a common Creed.

The Walls that fence His Flocks apart

Shall crack and crumble in Decay,

And every Tongue and every Heart

Shall welcome in the new-born Day.