 | Hymns and Poems |  |
EPILOGUE.
Farewell, a long farewell, O Minster green,
Dim haunt of olden time!
Where with our Pilgrim I have wandering been;—
Thou in thy strength sublime
Shalt still abide; nor be by me forgot,
Though, veil'd from earthly sense, I see thee not.
Thee oft the gather'd clouds reposing
Over the sunset's crimson closing,
Thee oft the forest aisle to mind shall bring;
Dim haunt of olden time!
Where with our Pilgrim I have wandering been;—
Thou in thy strength sublime
Shalt still abide; nor be by me forgot,
Though, veil'd from earthly sense, I see thee not.
Thee oft the gather'd clouds reposing
Over the sunset's crimson closing,
Thee oft the forest aisle to mind shall bring;
363
Of thee the mossy cell
In lonely woodland dell,
Of thee the winds shall tell,
Of thee the budding Spring!
Thy front of gold
Through the faint flush of morn I shall behold;
Thy chant shall hear in ocean's roar
Still echoing on for evermore!
In lonely woodland dell,
Of thee the winds shall tell,
Of thee the budding Spring!
Thy front of gold
Through the faint flush of morn I shall behold;
Thy chant shall hear in ocean's roar
Still echoing on for evermore!
Now to Him who all hath made
Everlasting praise be paid.
The time for Him it draweth near
In His own Temple to appear:
All Creation shall be dumb
When in His glory He shall come.
Who then may stand His face to see?
In that day, Jesu, pity me!
Everlasting praise be paid.
The time for Him it draweth near
In His own Temple to appear:
All Creation shall be dumb
When in His glory He shall come.
Who then may stand His face to see?
In that day, Jesu, pity me!
| Hymns and Poems | |