Transcription of Song published in the Primitive Methodist Magazine by H. Jeffs
Our fathers’ God, to-day we raise
With swelling hearts our song of praise;
Our fathers they, their children we –
Grant we may like our fathers be.
A lowly race, sons of the soil,
Their hands were hard with painful toil,
But faith and prayer make men of might;
They all were nobles in Thy sight.
Rustic in dress, and rude of speech,
They learned the “bleeding hand” to preach;
Village to village, town to town,
They went and feared nor scoff nor frown.
They knew in Whom they had believed;
The Risen Lord had them received;
Their sins were nailed unto His cross,
And out of Him all gain was loss.
The Christ who once in Galilee
Touched the blind eyes and made them see,
Unstopped deaf ears, and raised the dead,
Our fathers in their journeys led.
He “Judah’s Lion” was again,
And snapped as thread the captive’s chain;
They waved His glorious banner high,
And Hallelujahs rent the sky.
Long since their feet touched Jordan’s brink,
They did not at the coldness shrink,
They crossed triumphant to the place
Prepared, and saw Him face to face.
Our fathers’ God, our one desire –
Stir Thou in us their holy fire!
Their courage to their children give,
And may we like our fathers live.
Primitive Methodist Magazine 1907/390