I will build My church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. Matthew 16:18
O Lord! Thine ancient churches spare,
Which still Thy name, though fallen, bear;
Where once Thy bold apostles stood,
And sealed Thy truth with martyr’s blood.
Where now the Turk his power extends,
And vainly to his prophet bends,
There let again Thy Gospel shine,
With beams all bright, and power divine.
Where Jesus rose and left the grave,
There let the cross its banner wave;
While Syria sees her churches rise,
And hymns to Christ ascend the skies.
Let Nubia’s desert hear once more
The Savior’s voice, His love implore;
Egypt Thy sacred Word unroll,
And find that grace which saves the soul.