Classic Poem

But yesterday we sprang to birth,
Disciples of a martyr'd King,
Now, heralded throughout the earth,
Our noble faith is triumphing.

Ye thought to crush that mystic tree,
Whose leaves the fainting nations heal,
But now its branches wide and free,
The Planter's mighty arm reveal.

The thronging mart, who mingle there?
They whom the world could once deride.
What glitters on you house of prayer?
The sign of Him ye crucified.

Go to the court where grandeur reigns,
And men too oft their God forget;
Go, learn — Ambition never stains
A Christian ruler's coronet.

On mountain-top — by rolling flood,
Within the deep and shaded glen,
The glowing theme is Jesus' blood,
Effused for dying — guilty men.

In senate and in camp they move,
The just, the upright, and the true,
All eloquent for Him they love,
Prepared to suffer , or to do .

They heed not axe, nor lash, nor thorn,
Supported by the Holy Ghost,
Fair as the bright and purple morn,
And potent as a bannered host.

Though yesterday we sprang to birth,
Disciples of a martyr'd King,
Soon shall a sin-benighted earth,
The conquests of Emmanuel sing.