Classic Poem

CENIENNIAL HYMN

Blest be the ancient men whose feet
Once sought these holy towers;
Blest be the saints whose voices sweet
Hallowed the sacred hours.

Blest be the sires whose Christly speech
In silvery accents flowed;
So skilled to pray, so skilled to preach, —
Men grandly taught of God.

Numbered among the holy dead,
Their forms from earth are gone;
Through all the century's silent tread,
The Living Church sweeps on.

Have faith in God; His sceptred arm
O'er time and tempest reigns;
His little flock, secure from harm,
Safe on the Rock remains.

God of our fathers, in Thy name
Our banners still we raise;
Thy changeless love, the years proclaim,
And swell Thy sounding praise.