poems.
103
Which dwells in faithful hearts, shall sing thy praise,
Nor fear to call thee 'Father.'
Softly roll
The shadows o'er the landscape; bright the sun
Shines in the smiling heavens; gently breathe
The sighing winds; and flowers glance upward bright
Fair, fair is earth! and all around is peace.
Hark! hear that song that bursts upon the ear!
How sweet this woodland music! Where the waves
Roll their bright waters to the circling shore,
Soft sounds ascend. Ah, who has given us these?
Who spreads such beauty round us, and recalls,
By all these tokens of his power and love,
Our wand'ring hearts to heaven? Shall we give
Our little span of life to things that fade,
That ne'er repay our labour? All is ours!
(And we, O Lord, are thine!)—the world above
And all the beauties of the world below.
The poor and rich alike can feast on all,
Taste all the sweetness of the summer air,
And raise with joy the hymn of grateful praise.
Oh, that each heart were tun'd to sing thy praise,
And ev'ry mind prepar'd to own thy pow'r;
Detach'd from all vain, coveteous desires,
Would learn to gaze upon thy works, O God,
And feel that thou art here! Thus, thus inspir'd,
Nor fear to call thee 'Father.'
Softly roll
The shadows o'er the landscape; bright the sun
Shines in the smiling heavens; gently breathe
The sighing winds; and flowers glance upward bright
Fair, fair is earth! and all around is peace.
Hark! hear that song that bursts upon the ear!
How sweet this woodland music! Where the waves
Roll their bright waters to the circling shore,
Soft sounds ascend. Ah, who has given us these?
Who spreads such beauty round us, and recalls,
By all these tokens of his power and love,
Our wand'ring hearts to heaven? Shall we give
Our little span of life to things that fade,
That ne'er repay our labour? All is ours!
(And we, O Lord, are thine!)—the world above
And all the beauties of the world below.
The poor and rich alike can feast on all,
Taste all the sweetness of the summer air,
And raise with joy the hymn of grateful praise.
Oh, that each heart were tun'd to sing thy praise,
And ev'ry mind prepar'd to own thy pow'r;
Detach'd from all vain, coveteous desires,
Would learn to gaze upon thy works, O God,
And feel that thou art here! Thus, thus inspir'd,
