To us stretching down his hands!
Though a thousand mouths I had,
Leave to ask, and to obtain,
Never one of them should pray
For his coming back again.
O how wond'rous is God's way!
By that sacrifice, so grievous,
Won from bondage is my soul;
He was given us but to leave us,
Died to lure me to the goal.
Thanks be to thee that thy hand
Stoutly strove and firmly led—
Ah, I saw thine own heart bled.
Now it is for <g>thee</g>, instead,
In the vale of choice to stand,
Now for <g>thee</g> to hear the call
Of the awful <g>Nought</g> or <g>All</g>.
Brand.
Agnes, this is darkly said;—
Vanquish'd, lo, our sorrow lies!
Agnes.
Thou forget'st the word of dread:
<g>Whoso sees Jehovah dies!</g>
Brand.
[Starts back.]
Woe upon me! What a light
Thou has kindled! Never! No!
I have stalwart hands for fight,
And I will not let thee go!
Tear all earthly ties from me,
All possessions I will lose,
Only never, never thee!
