Strike the chords softly with tremulous fingers,
While, on the threshold of happiest years,
For a brief moment fond memory lingers,
Ere we go forth to life's conflicts and fears!
Strike the chords softly! - yet no, as we tarry,
Swiftly the morning is gliding away;
Weary ones droop 'neath the burdens they carry,
Toiling ones faint in the heat of the day.
Let us not linger! - Earth's millions are crying
"Come to us, aid us, we grope in the night!
Come to us, aid us, we're perishing, dying -
Give us, oh, give us, the heavenly Light!"
Let us not linger! - our brethren are calling, -
"Aid us, the harvest increases each day; -
Some have grown weary, alas, of their toiling! -
Others have passed from their labors away."
Gracious Redeemer we go at thy bidding,
Gladly encountering peril and loss;
Take us - ourselves to thy work we are giving,
Giveus - 'tis more than we merit - thy cross!