ART THOU A CHRISTIAN?
Art thou a Christian? Though thy cot
Be rude, and poverty thy lot,
A wealth is thine which earth denies,
A treasure boundless as the skies;
Gold and the diamond fade with shame,
Before thy casket's deathless flame;
Heir of high heaven! how canst thou sigh
For gilded dross and vanity?
Art thou a Christian, doom'd to roam
Far from thy friends and native home?
O'er trackless wilds uncheer'd to go,
With none to share an exile's wo?
Where'er thou find'st a Father's care,
Thy country and thy home are there:
How canst thou, then, a stranger be,
Surrounded by His family?
Art thou a Christian, mid the strife
Of years mature and burden'd life?
Thy heaven-born faith its shield shall spread
To guard thee in the hour of dread;
Thorns mid thy flinty path may spring,
Dire Pain inflict its scorpion sting,
But in thy soul a beacon-light
Shall guide thy pilgrim steps aright,
And balm from God's own fountain flow
To heal the wounds of earthly wo.
