Shepherd! who with thine amorous, sylvan song
  Hast broken the slumber that encompassed me,
  Who mad’st thy crook from the accursed tree,
  On which thy powerful arms were stretched so long! 
Lead me to mercy’s ever-flowing fountains;
  For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be;
  I will obey thy voice, and wait to see
  Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains. 
Hear, Shepherd! thou who for thy flock art dying,
  O, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou
  Rejoicest at the contrite sinner’s vow. 
O, wait! to thee my weary soul is crying,
  Wait for me!  Yet why ask it, when I see,
  With feet nailed to the cross, thou ’rt waiting still for me!

II

TO-MORROW

(MANANA)

BY LOPE DE VEGA

Lord, what am I, that with unceasing care,
  Thou didst seek after me, that thou didst wait
  Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate,
  And pass the gloomy nights of winter there? 
O strange delusion! that I did not greet
  Thy blest approach, and O, to Heaven how lost,
  If my ingratitude’s unkindly frost
  Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet. 
How oft my guardian angel gently cried,
  “Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see
  How he persists to knock and wait for thee!”
And, O! how often to that voice of sorrow,
  “To-morrow we will open,” I replied,
  And when the morrow came I answered still “To-morrow.”

III

THE NATIVE LAND

(EL PATRIO CIELO)

 BY FRANCISCO DE ALDANA

Clear fount of light! my native land on high,
  Bright with a glory that shall never fade! 
  Mansion of truth! without a veil or shade,
  Thy holy quiet meets the spirit’s eye. 
There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence,
  Gasping no longer for life’s feeble breath;
  But, sentinelled in heaven, its glorious presence
  With pitying eye beholds, yet fears not, death. 
Beloved country! banished from thy shore,
  A stranger in this prison-house of clay,
  The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for thee! 
Heavenward the bright perfections I adore
  Direct, and the sure promise cheers the way,
  That, whither love aspires, there shall my dwelling be.

IV

THE IMAGE OF GOD

(LA IMAGEN DE DIOS)

BY FRANCISCO DE ALDANA

O Lord! who seest, from yon starry height,
  Centred in one the future and the past,
  Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast
  The world obscures in me what once was bright! 
Eternal Sun! the warmth which thou hast given,
  To cheer life’s flowery April, fast