« 이전계속 »
Farewell, Earth, with all its treasures,
Jesus on the eternal throne.
WHEN We, our weary limbs to rest,
Our harps, that when with joy we sung,
Meanwhile our foes, who all conspired
Come, sing us one of Zion's songs."
How shall we tune our voice to sing,
O Salem! our once happy seat!
Let then my trembling hand forget
If I to mention thee forbear,
A HYMN AT SUNSET AMONG THE ALPS.
OH Thou, who hast thine altar made
On every mountain's brow; Whose temple is the forest's shade,
Its arch the forest bough;
Thou hast ever listen'd when we prayed,
And thou wilt hear us now.
Full kingly is thy royal grace
On the wide world pour'd forth;
From the sunny south, "in pride of place,"
To the icy-girded north,
The glorious beauty of thy face
Doth shine upon the earth.
To each to all-thy bounty flows,
Full, boundless, deep, and free;
Thou hast flowers for earth, and stars for heaven, And gems for the blue sea;
And for us our everlasting hills,
And hearts which dauntless be.
More hast thou given, oh God! yet more
That little band of shepherd men,
Who left their flocks with Thee,
And, strong in heart, went boldly forth
Thy hand was with their steadfast worth,
And they, the saints of later time,
And wandering exiles for their faith,
Forsake us not, but as of old
And give us still the courage bold
The cattle on a thousand hills,
The feeble and the small
We leave throughout the silent night,
Nor fear lest harm befal;
For thou who bless'd the patriarch's store, Wilt guard and keep them all.
Praise from the mountain's lordly crest,
Praise from the valley lone,
For all our daily blessedness,
For our bright ones who are gone, To thee, the mightiest, wisest, best, The great Eternal One!
O DAY most calm, most bright, The fruit of this, the next world's bud,
The endorsement of supreme delight,
Writ by a Friend, and with his blood;
The couch of Time; Care's balm and bay;
The week were dark, but for thy light;
The other days and thou
Make up one man, whose face thou art,
The burden of the week lies there,
Man had straightforward gone To endless death; but thou dost pull
And turn us round to look on One Whom, if we were not very dull,