By A Collection of Hymns
1 SHEPHERD of souls, with pitying eye
The thousands of our Israel see:
To thee in their behalf we cry,
Ourselves but newly found in thee.
2 See where o'er desert wastes they err,
And neither food nor feeder have,
Nor fold, nor place of refuge near,
For no man cares their souls to save.
3 Wild as the ill-taught Indian's brood
The Christian savages remain;
Strangers, yea, enemies to God,
They make thee spill thy blood in vain.
4 Thy people, Lord, are sold for nought,
Nor know they their Redeemer nigh;
They perish, whom thyself hast bought,
Their souls for lack of knowledge die.
5 The pit its mouth hath opened wide,
To swallow up its careless prey:
Why should they die, when thou hast died,
Hast died to bear their sins away?
6 Why should the foe thy purchase seize?
Remember, Lord, thy dying groans:
The meed of all thy sufferings these,
O claim them for thy ransomed ones!
7 Extend to these thy pardoning grace,
To these be thy salvation showed:
O add them to thy chosen race!
O sprinkle all their hearts with blood!
8 Still let the publicans draw near:
Open the door of faith and heaven,
And grant their hearts thy word to hear,
And witness all their sins forgiven.