Hymn

Hymn

Brethren, - the hour hath come

That severs heart from heart,

And bids from learning's sacred dome

Our pilgrim steps depart.

Some to you eastern sphere,

Where the dead idols reign,

The banner of the cross to rear

O'er Falsehood's giant fane; -

Some to the youthful West,

The country of our love,

To sow that seen in earth's green breast,

Whose fruit is reaped above.

Dear are these hallowed walls!

How dear each chosen friend! -

Yet cheerful when our Saviour calls,

Each cherished tie we rend.

And every deed of love,

Deep on our hearts we'll grave,

Howe'er in foreign lands we rove,

Or ride the crested wave.

Prayer is the link of gold

That binds us heart to heart, -

The watch-word of our Master's fold,

That joins us, though we part.

Why should we say, Farewell?

Are we not soon to meet,

The triumphs of our God to tell,

Before his glorious seat?

Why should we say, Farewell?

How few and brief the days

Ere with the angel host we swell

Our dear Redeemer's praise.

Mrs. Sigourney; Music by Charles Zenner (Lydia Huntley Sigourney)

1:37, p. 3

1837.09.16