Are ye able, said the Mas­ter,
To be cru­ci­fied with Me?
Yea, the stur­dy dream­ers an­swered,
To the death we fol­low Thee.

Refrain

Lord, we are able. Our spir­its are Thine.
Remold them, make us, like Thee, di­vine.
Thy guid­ing ra­di­ance above us shall be
A bea­con to God, to love and loy­al­ty.

Are you able to re­lin­quish
Purple dreams of pow­er and fame,
To go down in­to the Gar­den,
Or to die a death of shame?

Refrain

Are ye able, when the ang­uish
Racks your mind and heart with pain,
To for­give the souls who wrong you,
Who would make your striv­ing vain?

Refrain

Are ye able to re­mem­ber,
When a thief lifts up his eyes,
That his par­doned soul is wor­thy
Of a place in pa­ra­dise?

Refrain

Are ye able when the sha­dows
Close around you with the sod,
To be­lieve that spir­it tri­umphs,
To com­mend your soul to God?

Refrain

Are ye able? Still the Mas­ter
Whispers down eter­ni­ty,
And he­ro­ic spir­its an­swer,
Now as then in Ga­li­lee.

Refrain