Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/102
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AWAKE, PSALTERY AND HARP.
My heart, O Lord, forgets to rove,
But rises gladly free,
On wings of everlasting love,
And finds its home in Thee.
But rises gladly free,
On wings of everlasting love,
And finds its home in Thee.
When evening's silent shades descend,
And Nature sinks to rest,
Still to my Father and my Friend
My wishes are addressed.
And Nature sinks to rest,
Still to my Father and my Friend
My wishes are addressed.
Though tears may dim my hours of joy,
And hid my pleasures flee,
Thou reign'st where grief can not annoy,
I will be glad in Thee.
And hid my pleasures flee,
Thou reign'st where grief can not annoy,
I will be glad in Thee.
And e'en when midnight's solemn gloom,
Above, around, is spread,
Sweet dreams of everlasting bloom
Are hovering o'er my head.
Above, around, is spread,
Sweet dreams of everlasting bloom
Are hovering o'er my head.
I dream of that fair land, O Lord,
Where all Thy saints shall be;
I wake to lean upon Thy Word,
And still delight in Thee.
Where all Thy saints shall be;
I wake to lean upon Thy Word,
And still delight in Thee.
"Awake, Psaltery and Harp; I Myself Will Awake Early."
Wake, when the mist of the blue mountains sleeping,
Like crowns of glory, in the distance lie;
When breathing from the earth, o'er young buds sweeping,
The gale bears music through the sunny sky;
While lake and meadow, upland, grove, and stream,
Rise like the glory of an Eden dream.
Like crowns of glory, in the distance lie;
When breathing from the earth, o'er young buds sweeping,
The gale bears music through the sunny sky;
While lake and meadow, upland, grove, and stream,
Rise like the glory of an Eden dream.
Wake, while unfettered thoughts, like treasures springing,
Bid the heart leap within its prison-cell:
As birds and brooks through the pure air are flinging
The mellow chant of their beguiling spell;
When earliest winds their anthems have begun,
And, incense-laden, their sweet journeys run.
Bid the heart leap within its prison-cell:
As birds and brooks through the pure air are flinging
The mellow chant of their beguiling spell;
When earliest winds their anthems have begun,
And, incense-laden, their sweet journeys run.
Then, Psaltery and Harp, a tone awaken,
Whereto the echoing bosom shall reply,
As earth's rich scenes, by shadowy night forsaken,
Unfold their beauty to the filling eye;
When, like the restless breeze, or wild-bird's lay,
Pure thoughts, on dove-like pinions, float away.
Whereto the echoing bosom shall reply,
As earth's rich scenes, by shadowy night forsaken,
Unfold their beauty to the filling eye;
When, like the restless breeze, or wild-bird's lay,
Pure thoughts, on dove-like pinions, float away.