Hymns for the Use of the Methodist Preachers, 12

Master, at Thy command we rise,
No prophets we, or prophets' sons,
Or mighty, or well-born, or wise;
But quicken'd clods, but breathing stones,
Urged to cry out, constrain'd to call.
And tell mankind — He died for all!

We speak, because they hold their peace,
Who should Thy dying love proclaim:
We must declare Thy righteousness,
Thy truth, and power, and saving name.
Though the dumb ass with accent clear
Rebuke the silence of the seer.

But shall we e'er ourselves forget.
And in our gifts and graces trust.
With wild contempt the prophets treat,
Proudly against the branches boast,
Or dare the rulers vilify.
Or mock the priests of God most high?

Let them alone. Thy wisdom cries.
If blind conductors of the blind!
Let them alone, our heart replies.
And draws us to the work assign'd.
The work of publishing the word.
And seizing sinners for our Lord.

Here let us spend our utmost zeal,
Here let us all our powers exert,
To testify Thy gracious will.
Inform the world how kind Thou art,
And nothing know, desire, approve,
But Jesus — and Thy bleeding love.