"THE MASTER IS COME AND CALLETH FOR THEE."
SOMETIMES He calls for thee
In life's young morning, when its opening hours
Are flushed with gladness as the summer flowers,
When all around looks beautiful and gay,
And pleasure strews thy path from day to day.
It may be in the midst of such to thee
The Master saith, "Arise and follow Me"
In life's young morning, when its opening hours
Are flushed with gladness as the summer flowers,
When all around looks beautiful and gay,
And pleasure strews thy path from day to day.
It may be in the midst of such to thee
The Master saith, "Arise and follow Me"
Sometimes He calls for thee
When sorrow comes, and sickness unawares
Brings troublous moments and unceasing cares;
He bids thee learn the lesson hard in part
To give to Him the dear ones of thy heart.
He bids thee bear the cross for His loved sake,
The cross whose weight is ofttimes hard to take.
When sorrow comes, and sickness unawares
Brings troublous moments and unceasing cares;
He bids thee learn the lesson hard in part
To give to Him the dear ones of thy heart.
He bids thee bear the cross for His loved sake,
The cross whose weight is ofttimes hard to take.
Sometimes He calls for thee
To work for Him, to go into His fields
And bind the sheaves His latter harvest yields;
To help His servants that go forth afar
In foreign lands beneath the tropic star
With willing hands to smooth the tangled strife
Through paths of suffering to the perfect life.
To work for Him, to go into His fields
And bind the sheaves His latter harvest yields;
To help His servants that go forth afar
In foreign lands beneath the tropic star
With willing hands to smooth the tangled strife
Through paths of suffering to the perfect life.
Sometimes He calls for thee
With "still small voice" to gather to thy breast
His poor lost sheep who vainly seek for rest;
To meekly follow where His feet have trod
The thorny furrows that lead up to God;
To stretch a hand where aid is needed most
To such as err and count themselves as lost.
With "still small voice" to gather to thy breast
His poor lost sheep who vainly seek for rest;
To meekly follow where His feet have trod
The thorny furrows that lead up to God;
To stretch a hand where aid is needed most
To such as err and count themselves as lost.
Sometimes He calls for thee
To give up all thy earthly dreams, that dim
The narrow way that leads at last to Him;
To lose and suffer, and to count but vain
Earth's passing joys to heaven's eternal gain.
It may be in the silence and the shade
Thou best shalt hear His voice, "Be not afraid!"
To give up all thy earthly dreams, that dim
The narrow way that leads at last to Him;
To lose and suffer, and to count but vain
Earth's passing joys to heaven's eternal gain.
It may be in the silence and the shade
Thou best shalt hear His voice, "Be not afraid!"
Whene'er it be He calls,
Oh! make thou ready, do not tarry long;
E'en now perchance the angels' deathless song
Is wafted to thee, and their anthem rolls
Grandly o'er Christ's redeemed and faithful souls.
Oh! may His last sweet call speak thus to thee,
"That where I am, there shall My servant be!"
Oh! make thou ready, do not tarry long;
E'en now perchance the angels' deathless song
Is wafted to thee, and their anthem rolls
Grandly o'er Christ's redeemed and faithful souls.
Oh! may His last sweet call speak thus to thee,
"That where I am, there shall My servant be!"