 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
197
AND DID I SAY?
And did I say my lyre should sleep,
Because no laurels decked it;
That I no more its chords would sweep,
Because its lay is valued cheap,
And all the world neglect it?
I did—but felt not then the flame
Which now within me blazes,
Nor recked of His eternal claim,
Who gave the lyre to sing his name,
And utter forth his praises.
Because no laurels decked it;
That I no more its chords would sweep,
Because its lay is valued cheap,
And all the world neglect it?
I did—but felt not then the flame
Which now within me blazes,
Nor recked of His eternal claim,
Who gave the lyre to sing his name,
And utter forth his praises.
But now that lyre shall sleep no more,
Nor wake to earthly measures;
But every strain it warbles o'er,
Shall that Eternal Source adore,
Whence flow immortal pleasures.
No more I prostitute its lay,
To subjects evanescent;
But sing those scenes of endless day,
Where angel harps in rapture play,
And praises flow incessant.
Nor wake to earthly measures;
But every strain it warbles o'er,
Shall that Eternal Source adore,
Whence flow immortal pleasures.
No more I prostitute its lay,
To subjects evanescent;
But sing those scenes of endless day,
Where angel harps in rapture play,
And praises flow incessant.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |