By A Collection of Hymns

      L.M.
      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.