W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.
PentecostArthur Middlemore Morgan
Only to come more nigh,
More nigh Thy orphaned Twelve the first of us
Thy Sons innumerous,
Lo, at the break of Pentecostal Day,
We list what God will say
In Sion, in the mountain of Thy choice
We wait the still small Voice.
Let him the loved Voice hear;
“That where I am My Own might be alway,
On earth I would not stay;
A little while, and in My Gracious Rain
To earth I came again,
That I with man might dwell and be his Friend
Even unto the end.
’Twas That I bare on high;
My Death, My Life, to work ’mid sin and woe,
’Twas That I sent below;
Summed in the Mighty Wind and Tongues of Fire
Are all ye can desire,
That ye may work with This your God and be
Mine through Eternity.”
Who love Thy Festival!
Thou hast not left us orphans; to our need
The Comforter indeed,
The Eternal Father’s Promise, Thy Work’s Crown,
The Spirit has come down;
The Father thus and Son in Souls may dwell
For ever. It is well.