Scripture Verse

What shall I do with Jesus who is called Christ? Matthew 27:22


Nathaniel Norton

Words: Na­than­i­el Nor­ton, in Gos­pel Hymns No. 5, by George Steb­bins et al (New York: Big­low & Main, 1887). Nor­ton wrote the words at the re­quest of George Steb­bins, who want­ed a song with this re­frain.

Music: George C. Steb­bins (🔊 pdf nwc).

George C. Stebbins


Oh, what will you do with Jesus?
The call comes loud and sweet;
As tenderly He bids you
Your burdens lay at His feet;
Oh, soul so sad and weary,
That sweet voice speaks to thee;

Then what you will do with Jesus?
Oh, what shall the answer be?

Oh, what will you do with Jesus?
The call comes loud and clear;
The solemn words are sounding
In every listening ear;
Immortal life’s the question,
And joy through eternity;


Oh, think of the King of Glory
From Heav’n to earth come down,
His life so pure and holy,
His death, His cross, His crown;
Of His divine compassion,
His sacrifice for thee;



The Dream of Claudia Procula

Have thou naught to do with Him, O Pilate
With that Just One! For to-night a dream
Or an angel spoke: most dread revealing
Did the vision seem!

Throned amid the clouds of heaven I see Him;
See the lightnings flashing from His brow;
And that Face!—’tis His, the Galilean’s,
Thou art judging now.

Oh, the clouds of splendor! they enfold Him:
How the angels throng; their faces shine;
Oh, His eyes! with calmness, deep, majestic,
Looking into mine—

But I shrink away—I cannot bear it,
All that glory. Heaven is bending down,
And the thorn-pierced, mighty brow, refulgent,
Wears a victor’s crown.

Earth, all hushed, is waiting to adore him,
Mighty seas are murmuring at His feet;
Mountain heights, in silence, grand, before him
Stand, their King to greet.

See, the nations gather; He hath called them—
His, the mighty fiat they obey;
His, the Man enthroned amid the angels
On that awful day.

Darest thou meet Him, in the hour of judgment?
Pilate—canst thou answer to His call?
Trembling I behold thee; pallid terror
Holdeth thee in thrall:

Dumb, convicted, thou wouldst sue for mercy,
Yet canst find no plea, can speak no word:
Who is this?—the Judge, whose silence smiteth
Like avenging sword?

Fades the dream, at dawn dispels the midnight;
Last to vanish is that Face sublime;
And His eyes, still searching mine, command me
Speak, while yet there’s time.

Oh, refuse not! Pilate, heed the vision—
All my soul in anguish bids thee hear;
Oh, condemn thou not this Man, this Just One;
For I fear, I fear!

Martha Elvira Pettus
The Wayside Shrine, 1914