The Voice

Oh! that I were a voice—a voice whose cry,
The troubled heart might calm:
A faithful echo of the voice of old,
That cried, “Behold the Lamb!”

Oh! to be nothing, of all self bereft,
One theme alone be mine;
I would be but a sound to bear abroad:
No name, dear Lord, but Thine.

I’d stand and gaze on Thee, lost in the path
That Thy dear feet have trod;
And then I’d follow with the joyous shout—
“Behold the Lamb of God!”