May I amidst a world of toil and care,
Still bear in mind my Shepherd’s care for me,
Weep o’er my sin, each day for death prepare,
Sigh o’er thy name-stamp’d tool, and think on thee!
“WHO HATH BELIEVED OUR REPORT?”
Isaiah liii. 1.
“Who hath believed our report?”
The agonizing prophet cried;
Where do the wandering tribes resort,
For whom the King of Glory died?
His goodness doth before them pass,
The fairest of ten thousand He,
Yet sin bewilders, and alas,
In Him they can no beauty see.
His Kingly presence they deny,
While round their altars they resort,
Well might the grieved prophet cry,
“Who hath believed our report?”
“Away with such a one,” they cry,
“Let timbrels sound, and damsels sing,
This strange impostor crucify,
For none but Cæsar is our King!”
Slain in the streets the martyrs lie,
Who strove His kingdom to support,
Well might the trembling prophet cry,
“Who hath believed our report?”
His ministers to make Him known,
Their time, and strength, and souls devote,
Yet oft in sorrow cry alone,
“Who hath believed our report?”
All we like sheep have gone astray,
From Him we have our faces hid,
We each have turn’d to his own way,
And done the things that were forbid.