With each countenance turned to the orient side,
Come on the Three Hundred to Jordan, swift tide;
Jehovah hath called them, and onward they go,
So weary and faint, yet pursuing the foe.
The Lord drew His sword in His glory and might,
When the lamps shone like stars in the dead of the night;
When the Midianite hosts turned and fled in dismay
From a cake of baked barley and pitchers of clay.
The Angel had come to the chief's lowly home,
And appeared in the fire as Jehovah-Shalom;
Now deep be thy peace, and profound thy repose,
'Tis He that appoints thee to scatter His foes.
O Lord give us hearts to respond to the call,
To make a surrender of self—nay, of all!
Not pausing. to stoop or to kneel at the brink,
But lapping, like dogs, without stopping to drink.
O Lord, give us hearts to pursue without fear,
Though Succoth may slander and Penuel sneer;
For yet a few hours, by the power of our God,
And Satan himself 'neath our feet shall be trod.
Wouldst thou seek any solace, or turn from the fray,
When the Lord of the battle is leading the way
Tis JESUS that calls us, and forward we go,
Though weary and "faint, yet pursuing" the foe.
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