Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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A Hymn.
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
A Hymn.
Thy glory, O omnific God,
In awful radiance shone,
Ere angels heaven's pure courts had trode,
Or sung around thy throne:
Millions of ages ere the hour
When first the sun his rays did pour
On Eden's roseate peaceful bower,
Thou blissful dwelt'st alone.
In awful radiance shone,
Ere angels heaven's pure courts had trode,
Or sung around thy throne:
Millions of ages ere the hour
When first the sun his rays did pour
On Eden's roseate peaceful bower,
Thou blissful dwelt'st alone.
What mind can grasp the scene sublime,
When, from the ebon gloom,
Creation struck the march of time,
And night did backward boom?
Then flamed in native light each sun,
Its course each planet fleet begun,
While comets rapidly did run
Through space's boundless womb.
When, from the ebon gloom,
Creation struck the march of time,
And night did backward boom?
Then flamed in native light each sun,
Its course each planet fleet begun,
While comets rapidly did run
Through space's boundless womb.
The beauteous whole from chaos rose
At thy volition grand,
Which power and wisdom boundless shows
To man in every land:
Conviction for the sceptic hence
Clear demonstration doth dispense,
And from his mind the vapours dense
Dispels—which truth withstand.
At thy volition grand,
Which power and wisdom boundless shows
To man in every land:
Conviction for the sceptic hence
Clear demonstration doth dispense,
And from his mind the vapours dense
Dispels—which truth withstand.
But, oh! more glorious shone thy power
When thou, for fallen man,
Relief sought'st 'gainst the needful hour,
And didst redemption plan!
Here flames the attribute of Love,
The wonder of the hosts above,
With splendour, all in heaven to move,
But which they ne'er can scan.
When thou, for fallen man,
Relief sought'st 'gainst the needful hour,
And didst redemption plan!
Here flames the attribute of Love,
The wonder of the hosts above,
With splendour, all in heaven to move,
But which they ne'er can scan.
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Lord, let the death of Jesus be
My only hope and joy,
Which only can from sin set free,
And Satan's power destroy:
Oh may the blissful gospel call
Be duly prized by me—by all!
Lord, free from sin's tyrannic thrall,
And nought else can annoy!
My only hope and joy,
Which only can from sin set free,
And Satan's power destroy:
Oh may the blissful gospel call
Be duly prized by me—by all!
Lord, free from sin's tyrannic thrall,
And nought else can annoy!
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |