Their artless notes were sweet,
Grace ran through every line;
Their breasts with rapture swelled,
Their looks were all divine:
Delight o’er
all
My
senses stole,
And heaven’s
pure joy
O’erwhelmed
my soul.
When we had praised our God,
And knelt around His throne,
The aged man began
In deep and zealous tone,
With hands upraised
And
heavenward eye,
And prayed loud
And
fervently:
He prayed that for His sake,
Whose guiltless blood was shed
For guilty ruined man,
We might that day be fed
With that pure
bread
Which
cheers the soul,
And living stream,
Where
pleasures roll.
He prayed long for all,
And for his daughter dear,
That she, preserved from ill,
Might lead for many a year
A spotless life
When
he’s no more;
Then follow him
To
Canaan’s shore.
His faltering voice then fell,
His tears were dropping fast,
And muttering praise to God
For all His mercies past,
He closed his
prayer
Midst
heavenly joys,
And tasted bliss
Which
never cloys.
In sweet discourse we spent
The fast declining day:
We spoke of Jesus’ love,
And of that narrow way
Which leads, through
care
And
toil below,
To streams where
joys
Eternal
flow.
The wondrous plan of Grace,
Adoring, we surveyed,
The birth of heavenly skill—
In Love Eternal laid—
Too deep for clear
Angelic
ken,
And far beyond
Dim-sighted
men.
To tell you all that passed
Would far exceed my power;
Suffice it, then, to say,
Joy winged the passing hour,
Till, ere we knew,
The
setting day
Had clad the world
In
silver grey.
I kindly took my leave,
And blessed the happy lot
Of those I left behind
Lodged in their humble cot;
And pitied some
In
palace walls,
Where pride torments,
And
pleasure palls.
The silver moon now shed
A flood of trembling light
On tower, and tree, and stream;
The twinkling stars shone bright,
Nor misty stain
Nor
cloud was seen
O’er all
the deep
Celestial
green.
Mild was the lovely night,
Nor stirred a whispering breeze.
Smooth was the glassy lake,
And still the leafy trees;
No sound in air
Was
heard afloat,
Save Philomel’s
Sweet
warbling note.
My thoughts were on the wing,
And back my fancy fled
To where contentment dwelt
In the neat humble shed;
To shining courts
From
thence it ran,
Where restless
pride
Oppresses
man.