Classic Poem

Lord, thou hast many a serving-man,
And better far than I;
Yet leave Thee, Lord, I never can,
Nor Him who bought deny.

Thou brought me out of bondage sore,
When sick and faint of heart;
And can I ask for service more,
Than never to depart.

A Servant now I'll tend thy sheep,
Nor know the master's joy;
Yet I, if well thy fold I keep,
Shall find a son's employ.

O hasten, Father, hasten on,
The days till all are past;
And Thou when all my work is done,
Wilt call me son at last.