Dismiss me not Thy ser­vice, Lord,
But train me for Thy will;
For even I, in fields so broad,
Some du­ties may ful­fill;
And I will ask for no re­ward,
Except to serve Thee still.

How ma­ny serve, how ma­ny more
May to the ser­vice come;
To tend the vines, the grapes to store,
Thou dost ap­point for some;
Thou hast Thy young men at the war,
Thy lit­tle ones at home.

All works are good, and each is best
As most it pleas­es Thee;
Each work­er pleas­es, when the rest
He serves in char­ity;
And nei­ther man nor work un­blest
Wilt Thou per­mit to be.

O ye who serve, re­mem­ber One
The work­er’s way who trod;
He served as man, but now His throne,
It is the throne of God:
The scep­ter He hath to us shown
Is like a blos­som­ing rod.

Firm fi­bers of the tree of life
Hath each com­mand of His,
And each with clus­ter­ing blos­soms rife
At ev­ery sea­son is;
Bare on­ly, like a sword of strife,
Against love’s en­emies.

Our Mas­ter all the work hath done
He asks of us to­day;
Sharing His ser­vice, ev­ery one
Share too His son­ship may:
Lord, I would serve and be a son;
Dismiss me not, I pray.