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The Sunday School

by Amos Russel Wells

A school it is, where glorious things are taught;
A factory as well, where lives are wrought;
A garden, where the flower-like children grow;
An ocean, too, where freighted vessels go.

It is a school, the school of Jesus Christ;
His treasure-house as well, of gems unpriced;
His army, drilled for high, heroic strife;
His orchard, with all golden fruitage rife.

It loves a Book, this Bible Sunday school;
It owns a sceptre—Christ's imperial rule;
It has one task—the Saviour's will to do;
It holds one faith—that He is good and true.

O school, unending is your perfect lore.
O army, forward! Jesus goes before.
O workmen, labor! Jesus labors too;
You cannot fail, your Master toils with you.

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