And, pierced for us,—sets the world’s captive free— 85
His hardest service this—“believe on me.”
Aye, there be many ’mid thy darkest cells,
City, where ev’ry vice and sorrow dwells!
Who bind the harvest in no pleasant field,
Reaping with tears the increase it may yield! 90
Yet on the tablets of the age record—
“I and my house will humbly serve the Lord!”
Amid thy darkness bid Truth brightly shine,
Strong to redeem the evil of the time.