Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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“PRAISE-GOD-BAREBONES.” I. |
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 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
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“PRAISE-GOD-BAREBONES.” I.
I'll praise the Lord with any man,
I'll praise the Lord with none,
For life is but a little span
And little have I done;
But when I sing
I feel a king
Upon a royal seat,
And then I rise
Above the skies
And dine on royal meat;
For then I am a heavenly harp in spite of all my spare bones,
Although the godless rabble carp and call me “Praise-God-Barebones.”
I'll praise the Lord with none,
For life is but a little span
And little have I done;
But when I sing
I feel a king
Upon a royal seat,
And then I rise
Above the skies
And dine on royal meat;
For then I am a heavenly harp in spite of all my spare bones,
Although the godless rabble carp and call me “Praise-God-Barebones.”
Come, sinners, send your praises up
And with a goodly shout,
To give the Lord a brimming cup
And starve the devil out;
For Satan flees
From bended knees
And from the holy strain,
And when the sound
Of praise goes round
His worst assaults are vain;
I am the Master's chosen voice in spite of all my spare bones,
Although the world may still rejoice and call me “Praise-God-Barebones.”
And with a goodly shout,
To give the Lord a brimming cup
And starve the devil out;
For Satan flees
From bended knees
And from the holy strain,
And when the sound
Of praise goes round
His worst assaults are vain;
I am the Master's chosen voice in spite of all my spare bones,
Although the world may still rejoice and call me “Praise-God-Barebones.”
I'll praise the Lord with lusty breath,
He's worthy to adore,
I'll magnify Him to the death
Through life and evermore;
Howe'er the fools
Of scornful schools
Deride the hymns I raise,
If I am lean
There's nothing mean
About my swelling praise;
I'm builded on the blessed Rock in spite of all my spare bones,
Although the wicked people mock and call me “Praise-God-Barebones.”
He's worthy to adore,
I'll magnify Him to the death
Through life and evermore;
Howe'er the fools
Of scornful schools
Deride the hymns I raise,
If I am lean
There's nothing mean
About my swelling praise;
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Although the wicked people mock and call me “Praise-God-Barebones.”
Come, fellow worms, who war with sin,
Lift your thanksgivings well
And make the house of song, wherein
The Lord delights to dwell;
I am but clay
Who sing away
To quench my mortal thirst,
And this poor heart
With just one part
Must ever sing or burst;
I've sung the guilty burden off in spite of all my spare bones,
Although the adversaries scoff and call me “Praise-God-Barebones.”
Lift your thanksgivings well
And make the house of song, wherein
The Lord delights to dwell;
I am but clay
Who sing away
To quench my mortal thirst,
And this poor heart
With just one part
Must ever sing or burst;
I've sung the guilty burden off in spite of all my spare bones,
Although the adversaries scoff and call me “Praise-God-Barebones.”
I'll praise the Lord through every change
With loyal word and deed,
His glory through the realms I range
Shall be my only creed;
Though darkly pent
His instrument
I lie within His hand,
A rugged lute
Awake or mute
To carry His command;
But large and lovely is my end in spite of all my spare bones,
Although fat bulls of Bashan rend and call me “Praise-God-Barebones.”
With loyal word and deed,
His glory through the realms I range
Shall be my only creed;
Though darkly pent
His instrument
I lie within His hand,
A rugged lute
Awake or mute
To carry His command;
But large and lovely is my end in spite of all my spare bones,
Although fat bulls of Bashan rend and call me “Praise-God-Barebones.”
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