26.12.2010, 12:36
O God, impart Thy blessing to my cries,
Tho' I trust deeply, yet I daily err ;
The waters of my heart are oft astir,
An Angel's there ! and yet I cannot rise !
1 wish that Christ were here among us still.
Proffering His bosom to His servant's brow,
But oh ! that holy voice comes o'er us now
Like twilight echoes from a distant hill :
No mountain-sermons, and no ruthful gaze !
No voice sweet-toned, and blessing all the time !
No cheerly credence gather'd from His face !
No path thro' hamlets in the eve or prime !
No gentle prayers for all our faded race !
And those whose hearts are half-unstrung with crime.'
Tho' I trust deeply, yet I daily err ;
The waters of my heart are oft astir,
An Angel's there ! and yet I cannot rise !
1 wish that Christ were here among us still.
Proffering His bosom to His servant's brow,
But oh ! that holy voice comes o'er us now
Like twilight echoes from a distant hill :
No mountain-sermons, and no ruthful gaze !
No voice sweet-toned, and blessing all the time !
No cheerly credence gather'd from His face !
No path thro' hamlets in the eve or prime !
No gentle prayers for all our faded race !
And those whose hearts are half-unstrung with crime.'