Poem, undated
Far out upon the prairie,
How many children dwell,
Who never read the Bible,
Or hear the Sabbath bell.
And when the holy morning,
Wakes us to sing and pray,
They spend the precious moments,
In idleness and play.
Chorus, Repeat the first four lines.
For they have no kind pastor,
Whose loving words have told,
Of Jesus the good shepherd,
And call them to his fold.
No Sabbath School inviting,
Its pleasent doors within,
No teacher's voice entreating,
To leave the ways of sin.
I wish that I could tell them,
How Jesus came to die,
When he for little children,
Left his bright throne on high. /
And all the sad sad story,
Of sorrows which he bore,
When for his crown of glory,
A crown of thorns he wore.
And so each morn and evening,
When e'er I kneel in prayer,
I'll ask the gracious Saviour,
To send his gospel there.
That in the glorious City,
In which he dwells above,
We all may sing together,
Of his redeeming love.
DATABASE CONTENT
| (14195) | DL1938.035 | X.1 | Other |
Tags: Poetry, Religion
People - Records: 1
- (3879) [associated with] ~ Crist, Robert Henry
SOURCES
Poem, undated, DL1938.035, Nau Collection
