Hymns from the Land of Luther

Dark mighty Ocean, rolling to our feet!

In thy low murmur many voices meet,

The sound of distant lands brought strangely near

To Fancy's ear.

From shores unknown comes the sweet Sabbath bell,

New languages the old glad tidings tell,

We hear the hymn of praise--the martyr's Song--

All borne along.

And starting at the summons, we obey,

And o'er thy waves prepare to find our way,

Leaving the ties of country and of home,

Ocean, we come!

Our chariot thou, to bear us to the lands

Where fields of promise wait our willing hands;

Thou and ourselves are servants. to fulfill

Our Master's will!

And whether in thy depths we find a grave,

Or with our heart's-blood dye the distant wave,

Or with glad hopes, upon thy billows borne,

Homewards return;

Whether to death or life our course leads on--

The Master knows--His holy will be done!

To life eternal, When all storms are past,

We come at last!