University of Virginia Library


73

Whitsunday.

“The Spirit also helpeth our infirmities.”—Saint Paul.

Alas these pilgrims faint and worn!
Alas this Vale of Tears!
These sinners sore who sink and mourn
Through the long mortal years!
Behold this Garden of the Lord!
These guests in raiment bright!
This beauty hath the Spirit poured,
Hath made that darkness light.
Ah faithless souls that dwelt apart!
Ah lonely, loveless throng!
No fire within each joyless heart—
Dull, dull each formal tongue!

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Behold these brethren dear! enquire
How hath this sweetness grown!
The Spirit sets their souls on fire,
The Spirit makes them one!
Kneel with this prayerful company!
Join, join these cheerful songs!
The Spirit makes this melody,
The Spirit tunes these tongues.
Ah weaklings vain, who faintly wrought,
Who soon the strife gave o'er,
Who no sweet gift the brethren brought,
The Lord no tribute bore!
The Spirit pours the lavish love
Of this gift-bearing throng;
These linkëd hands, that mountains move,
The Spirit makes them strong.

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He leadeth forth His awful host,
He mingleth in the fight;
O army of the Holy Ghost!
What shall withstand your might?
Ah souls their veilëd Heaven that mourned!
Ah glory faint and dim!
Ah tearful eyes that vainly yearned!
Ah distant Seraphin!
Blest souls, that now Heaven's glory greet,
That here Heaven's rapture feel!
The Spirit brings this earnest sweet,
The Spirit sets His seal.
Ne'er from His dwellingplace so dear
The Spirit will remove;
O Church of God! reveal Him here!
Soar on His wings above!