When floods of light upon thee break,
From heav'n, a heav'n of earth to make,
And one thou needest to partake
The splendor on thee stealing;
Or when each ray of splendor dies,
And scowl upon thee gloomy skies,
And one thou need'st to sympathize
With desolated feeling;
Or when thou look'st around mankind,
Nor one among them all canst find
Who has with thine a kindred mind,
When earth to thee is drearest;
When all deny affection's balm
The fever of thy soul to calm,
Oh! then remember where I am!
Oh! think upon me, dearest!

But sure it cannot be decreed
Protection thou shouldst ever need,
Or sympathy;— thy virtues, plead
So well for thee with heaven,
Its blessings only will descend,
And earth no less will thee befriend, ——
Ah! that I might as well depend,
Upon the hope, that given
To me a thought of thine can be,
While all around thee worship thee!
But if thou him shouldst wish to see
Whose ardour is sincerest;
Whose ev'ry fondest thought is thine,—
Whose heart is bleeding at thy shrine,—
Who life would for thy sake resign,—
Oh! think upon me, dearest!

Booth led boldly with his big bass drum—
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)
The Saints smiled gravely and they said: "He's come."
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)
Walking lepers followed, rank on rank,
Lurching bravos from the ditches dank,
Drabs from the alleyways and drug fiends pale—
Minds still passion-ridden, soul-powers frail:—
Vermin-eaten saints with moldy breath,
Unwashed legions with the ways of Death—
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb? )

Every slum had sent its half-a-score
The round world over. (Booth had groaned for more.)
Every banner that the wide world flies
Bloomed with glory and transcendent dyes.
Big-voiced lasses made their banjos bang,
Tranced, fanatical they shrieked and sang:—
"Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?"
Hallelujah! It was queer to see
Bull-necked convicts with that land make free.
Loons with trumpets blowed a blare, blare, blare
On, on upward thro' the golden air!
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)

Booth died blind and still by faith he trod,
Eyes still dazzled by the ways of God.
Booth led boldly, and he looked the chief
Eagle countenance in sharp relief,
Beard a-flying, air of high command
Unabated in that holy land.

Jesus came from out the court-house door,
Stretched his hands above the passing poor.
Booth saw not, but led his queer ones there
Round and round the mighty court-house square.
Then, in an instant all that blear review
Marched on spotless, clad in raiment new.
The lame were straightened, withered limbs uncurled
And blind eyes opened on a new, sweet world.

Drabs and vixens in a flash made whole!
Gone was the weasel-head, the snout, the jowl!
Sages and sibyls now, and athletes clean,
Rulers of empires, and of forests green!

The hosts were sandalled, and their wings were fire!
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb? )
But their noise played havoc with the angel-choir.
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)
Oh, shout Salvation! It was good to see
Kings and Princes by the Lamb set free.
The banjos rattled and the tambourines
Jing-jing-jingled in the hands of Queens.

And when Booth halted by the curb for prayer
He saw his Master thro' the flag-filled air.
Christ came gently with a robe and crown
For Booth the soldier, while the throng knelt down.
He saw King Jesus. They were face to face,
And he knelt a-weeping in that holy place.
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?