  BY J. M. WHITEFIELD. Written for the Vine Street Methodist Episcopal Church of colored people, in Buffalo, N. Y. God of our sires! before thy throne Our humble offering now we bring; Deign to accept it as thine own, And dwell therein, Almighty King! Around thy glorious throne above Angels and flaming seraphs sing; Archangels own thy boundless love, And cherubim their tribute bring. And every swiftly rolling sphere, That wends its way through boundless space, Hymns forth, in chorus loud and clear, Its mighty Maker's power and grace. It is not ours to bear the parts In that celestial song of praise; But here, O Lord! with grateful hearts, This earthly fane to Thee we raise. O let thy presence fill this house, And from its portals ne'er depart! Accept, O Lord! the humble vows Poured forth by every contrite heart! No sacrifice of beast or bird, We'll bring a holier sacrifice. Here shall the hoary-headed sire Invoke thy grace, on bended knee; While youth shall catch the sacred fire, And pour its song of praise to Thee. Let childhood, too, with stammering tongue, Here lisp thy name with reverent awe; And high and low, and old and young, Learn to obey thy holy law. And when our spirits shall return Back to the God who gave them birth, And these frail bodies shall be borne To mingle with their kindred earth,— Then, in that house not made with hands, New anthems to thy praise we'll sing, To Thee, who burst our slavish bands, Our Saviour, Prophet, Priest, and King. |
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