2 Lord Jesus, come; for hosts Meet on the battle plain: The patriot mourns, the tyrant boasts, And tears are shed like rain. 3 Lord Jesus, come; for chains Are still upon the slave; Bind up his wounds, relieve his pains, The pining bondman save. 4 Hark! herald voices near, Lead on thy happier day: Come, Lord, and our hosannas hear; We wait to strew thy way. 5 Come, as in days of old, With words of grace and power; Gather us all within thy fold, And let us stray no more. 820. C. M. R. Nicoll. Honor all Men. 1 I may not scorn the meanest thing That on the earth doth crawl; The slave who would not burst his chain, The tyrant in his hall. 2 The vile oppressor who hath made The widowed mother mourn, Though worthless, soulless he may stand, I cannot, dare not scorn. 3 The darkest night that shrouds the sky, Of beauty hath a share: The blackest heart hath sighs to tell That God still lingers there. 821. C. M. Whittier. The Call of Truth. 1 Oh! not alone with outward sign, Of fear, or voice from heaven, The message of a truth divine, The call of God, is given; Awakening in the human heart, Love for the true and right, Zeal for the Christian's better part, Strength for the Christian's fight. 2 Though heralded by nought of fear, Or outward sign or show; Though only to the inward ear It whisper soft and low; Though dropping as the manna fell, Unseen, yet from above, Holy and gentle, heed it well: The call to truth and love. 822. C. M. Lond. Inquirer. Encouragement to Christian Effort. 1 Scorn not the slightest word or deed, Nor deem it void of power; There's fruit in each wind-wafted seed, Waiting its natal hour. 2 A whispered word may touch the heart, And call it back to life; A look of love bid sin depart, And still unholy strife. 3 No act falls fruitless; none can tell How vast its power may be; Nor what results enfolded dwell Within it silently. 4 Work and despair not: bring thy mite, Nor care how small it be; God is with all that serve the right, The holy, true, and free. 823. S. M. Enfield. Forgiveness. 1 I hear the voice of woe! I hear a brother's sigh! Then let my heart with pity flow, With tears of love, my eye. 2 I hear the thirsty cry! The hungry beg for bread! Then let my spring its stream supply, My hand its bounty shed. 3 The debtor humbly sues, Who would, but cannot pay; And shall I lenity refuse, Who need it every day? 4 And shall not wrath relent, Touched by that humble strain, My brother crying, "I repent, Nor will offend again?"