Father of mer­cies, in Thine house,
Smile on our hom­age, and our vows;
While with a grate­ful heart we share
These pledg­es of our Sav­ior’s care.

The Sav­ior, when to Heav’n He rose,
In splen­did tri­umph o’er His foes,
Scattered His gifts on men be­low,
And wide His royal boun­ties flow.

Hence sprung the Apos­tles’ hon­ored name;
Sacred be­yond he­ro­ic fame;
Hence dic­tates the pro­phet­ic sage;
And hence the ev­an­gel­ic page.

In low­li­er forms to bless our eyes
Pastors from hence, and teach­ers rise;
Who, though with feeb­ler rays they shine,
Still gild a long ex­tend­ed line.

From Christ their va­ried gifts de­rive,
And fed by Christ their grac­es live;
While, guard­ed by His po­tent hand,
Midst all the rage of hell they stand.

So shall the bright suc­ces­sion run,
Through the last cours­es of the sun;
While un­born church­es by their care
Shall rise and flour­ish large and fair.

Jesus our Lord their hearts shall know
The spring, whence all these bless­ings flow;
Pastors and peo­ple shout Thy praise
Through the long round of end­less days.