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For as I look'd upon my fleecy pride,
I thought who now their wandering steps should guide;
But still within the holy impulse burn'd,
And soon its answering thoughts my heart return'd:
"My tender lambs, my unfed flock, adieu,
My God, a shepherd will provide, for you;
One kind as I have been; whose care shall guide
You, where fresh pastures smile, and fountains glide:
A hand unseen, a voice and purpose true,
Divide you from my charge, and me from you."
And who shall hesitate when God commands?
Whether to foreign climes, or heathen lands,
His messenger he sends, who feels with pain,
Nature's strong bands his summon'd step detain!
But woe to him if bands like these control
The heavenly purpose planted in his soul,
If glittering stores, or scenes in childhood trod,
Or joys of home, or ties of kindred blood,
Shall draw his wavering heart, more than the call of God.
What tho' my shepherd's coat, and rustic ways,
Ill suit the prophet's venerable grace;
What tho' the charge I bring be dark with fear,
And sound but harshly on the guilty ear;
What though my heart its last red drop shall drain,
And I must slumber with the prophets slain;
