Thou, Who Didst Call Thy Saints of Old

Thou

who didst call Thy saints of old

Thy chos­en flock to teach

Who mad’st the fear­ful heart­ed bold

And quick the slow of speech;

Still Thou dost ask whom Thou shalt send

And who will go for Thee

To feed Thy lambs

Thy sheep to tend;

Lord

here am I; send me.

O send us—e’en as Thou

O Lord

Wast by the Fa­ther sent—

To speak Thine own ab­solv­ing word

To sin­ners pe­ni­tent;

To wash Thy chos­en in the flood

Whereby new birth is giv­en;

To minister the sac­red food

The Bread of Life from Heav’n.

And Thou

who didst by pro­phets deign

To speak the will di­vine

That we may nev­er speak in vain

May all our words be Thine;

Oh

teach us

Ho­ly Ghost

that we

Thine her­it­age may teach;

Bid us to pro­phe­sy for Thee

And in Thy pow­er to preach.

So may we

though un­wor­thy still

Most ho­ly Tri­ni­ty

Thy pro­phets

pas­tors

priests

ful­fill

Our sac­red min­is­try;

That

when be­side the crys­tal sea

We lay our of­fice down

The souls that we have trained for Thee

May be our joy and crown.