When the old pro­phet­ic man­tle
Had up­on Eli­sha fell,
As he la­bored in the field be­hind the plow;
And he felt that to the na­tions
He the truth of God must tell,
He ap­peared to shrink the cross as men do now.

Refrain

Power to heal the le­per, pow­er to raise the dead,
Power to fill the emp­ty pots with oil;
Is wait­ing for the work­er
Who in Je­sus’ steps will tread,
And leave his life of ease for one of toil.

He at first would kiss his fa­ther,
And his mo­ther bid fare­well,
But Eli­jah said that road would lead to death;
And when he saw his shrink­ing
Would send ma­ny souls to hell,
He said, No, I’ll fol­low God till lat­est breath.

Refrain

So he slew and boiled his ox­en
On the splin­ters of his plow,
And he made for all his poor­er friends a feast;
Leaving naught but bones and ashes
To be tempt­ed back to now,
Every bridge is burned,
And God an­oints him priest.

Refrain

See him now—the swell­ing Jor­dan,
In its on­ward course is stayed,
And the hard­ened piece of steel is made to swim;
And the spring of bit­ter water
With a cruse of salt is heal­ed,
And the wi­dow’s pots with oil filled to the brim.

Refrain

If you’d have Eli­sha’s pow­er,
You must take the way he trod,
Sell whate’er thou hast and give it to the poor;
Leaving not your trea­sures in this world
To tempt you back from God,
But lay them up on Heav­en’s last­ing shore.

Refrain