The Call Of The Christian

Not always as the whirlwind's rush     On Horeb's mount of fear,     Not always as the burning bush     To Midian's shepherd seer,     Nor as the awful voice which came     To Israel's prophet bards,     Nor as the tongues of cloven flame,     Nor gift of fearful words,     Not always thus, with outward sign     Of fire or voice from Heaven,     The message of a truth divine,     The call of God is given!     Awaking in the human heart     Love for the true and right,     Zeal for the Christian's better part,     Strength for the Christian's fight.     Nor unto manhood's heart alone     The holy influence steals     Warm with a rapture not its own,     The heart of woman feels!     As she who by Samaria's wall     The Saviour's errand sought,     As those who with the fervent Paul     And meek Aquila wrought:     Or those meek ones whose martyrdom     Rome's gathered grandeur saw     Or those who in their Alpine home     Braved the Crusader's war,     When the green Vaudois, trembling, heard,     Through all its vales of death,     The martyr's song of triumph poured     From woman's failing breath.     And gently, by a thousand things     Which o'er our spirits pass,     Like breezes o'er the harp's fine strings,     Or vapors o'er a glass,     Leaving their token strange and new     Of music or of shade,     The summons to the right and true     And merciful is made.     Oh, then, if gleams of truth and light     Flash o'er thy waiting mind,     Unfolding to thy mental sight     The wants of human-kind;     If, brooding over human grief,     The earnest wish is known     To soothe and gladden with relief     An anguish not thine own;     Though heralded with naught of fear,     Or outward sign or show;     Though only to the inward ear     It whispers soft and low;     Though dropping, as the manna fell,     Unseen, yet from above,     Noiseless as dew-fall, heed it well,     Thy Father's call of love