Thomas Hornblower Gill (1819–1906)

O SAINTS of old! not yours alone

These words most high shall be:

We take the glory for our own;

Lord! we are seeking Thee.

Not only when ascends the song,

And soundeth sweet the Word;

Not only ’midst the Sabbath throng

Our souls would seek the Lord.

We mingle with another throng

And other words we speak:

To other business we belong:

But still our Lord we seek.

We would not to our daily task

Without our God repair,

But in the world Thy presence ask,

And seek Thy glory there.

Would we against some wrong be bold

And break some yoke abhorred?

Amidst the strife and stir behold

The seekers of the Lord!

Yes, we who every yoke would break,

Who every soul would free;

The world our calling doth mistake:

Lord! we are seeking Thee.

O! mean may seem the work we do;

O! vile the name we earn:

But Thou hast eyes to look us through:

Thy seekers, Lord, discern!

We lose, we lack that men may gain

We suffer and we smile;

But why this joy amidst the pain?

We seek our Lord the while.

When on Thy glorious works we gaze

We fain would seek Thee there:

Our gladness in their beauty raise

To joy in Thee, First Fair!

O everywhere, O every day,

Thy grace is still outpoured;

We work, we watch, we strive, we pray:

Behold Thy Seekers, Lord!