How pain­ful is the task,
A mem­ber to dis­own;
Once by the church es­teemed and loved,
And as a bro­ther known.

Could aught pre­vent the deed,
The so­lemn deed de­clared,
How hap­py it for us had been,
From such a du­ty spared.

But oh, the love of Christ,
The love of truth de­mands,
This need­ful, pain­ful sac­ri­fice,
This du­ty at our hands.

Should we at sin con­nive,
Or any ev­il spare,
How could we give ac­count at last,
When Je­sus shall ap­pear.

His eyes as flames of fire,
Search all the church­es through,
Naught can be hid­den from His sight,
Though veiled from mor­tal view.

To Him may we our­selves,
In faith­ful­ness ap­prove;
And while we mourn our hum­bled state,
Wait His re­viv­ing love.