Beneath the wing of night;
There is an ear that never shuts,
When sink the beams of light.
There is an arm that never tires
When human strength gives way;
There is a love that never fails
When earthly loves decay.
That eye is fixed on seraph throngs;
That arm upholds the sky;
That ear is filled with angel songs;
That love is throned on high.
But there’s a pow’r which man can wield,
When mortal aid is vain;
That eye, that arm, that love to reach,
That list’ning ear to gain.
That pow’r is pray’r which soars on high,
Thro’ Jesus, to the throne,
And moves the hand which moves the world,
To bring salvation down.
John A. Wallace
Lab’rers of Christ, arise,
And gird you for the toil!
The dew of promise from the skies
Already cheers the soil.
Go where the sick recline,
Where mourning hearts deplore;
And where the sons of sorrow pine,
Dispense your hallowed store.
Be faith, which looks above,
With prayer, your constant guest;
And wrap the Saviour’s changeless love
A mantle round your breast.
So shall you share the wealth
That earth may ne’er despoil,
And the blest gospel’s saving health
Repay your arduous toil.
Lydia H. Sigourney
