Whitsunday by Watts

 
Great was the day, the joy was great,
When the divine disciples met,
Whilst on their heads the Spirit came,
And sat like tongues of cloven flame.
What gifts, what miracles he gave!
And pow'r to kill, and pow'r to save!
Furnish'd their tongues with wond'rous words,
Instead of shields, and spears, and swords!
Thus arm'd, he sent the champions forth,
From east to west, from south to north;
"Go, and assert your Saviour's cause;
"Go, spread the myst'ry of his cross.
These weapons of the holy war,
Of what almighty force they are,
To make our stubborn passions bow,
And lay the proudest rebel low.
Nations, the learned and the rude,
Are by these heavenly arms subdued;
While satan rages at his loss,
And hates the doctrine of the cross.
Great King of grace! my heart subdue!
I would be led in triumph too.
A willing captive to my Lord,
And sing the victories of his word.