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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| 8. | MELODY EIGHTH. Isaiah, Chap. VI.
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
MELODY EIGHTH. Isaiah, Chap. VI.
High borne, beyond creation's bounds,
Where spheres unnumber'd fly,
To that pure clime where love resounds,
And rapture fires each eye:
Far, far-receded from the view,
The stars, which gild our arch of blue,
Outshone, by light of purer hue
Which spirits sole can spy:
Where spheres unnumber'd fly,
To that pure clime where love resounds,
And rapture fires each eye:
Far, far-receded from the view,
The stars, which gild our arch of blue,
Outshone, by light of purer hue
Which spirits sole can spy:
To that bright region rapt was I,
Where God immediate reigns,
Whose brilliant temple, tow'ring high,
Adorns the spacious plains;
Where seraphs strike the chiming lyre—
Not strung, like ours, with thrumming wire,
But with what suits their glorious choir—
And dulcet vocal strains.
Where God immediate reigns,
Whose brilliant temple, tow'ring high,
Adorns the spacious plains;
Where seraphs strike the chiming lyre—
Not strung, like ours, with thrumming wire,
But with what suits their glorious choir—
And dulcet vocal strains.
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High on his throne Jehovah sat,
In splendour matchless bright;
But of the angels—none thereat
Could look,—so pure the light!
Veil'd with the wings of awe they stand,
And chaunt their hymns in concord grand;
Or fly like lightning—at command—
Which gilds the vault of night.
In splendour matchless bright;
But of the angels—none thereat
Could look,—so pure the light!
Veil'd with the wings of awe they stand,
And chaunt their hymns in concord grand;
Or fly like lightning—at command—
Which gilds the vault of night.
Struck with the glory of the scene,
How justly I did cry—
“Alas! should I, of lips unclean,
On heaven's courts dart an eye?
'Mong rebel sinners I do dwell,
Who shun Jehovah's praise to swell;
To me more just the vault of hell,
Where vengeance red doth fly.”
How justly I did cry—
“Alas! should I, of lips unclean,
On heaven's courts dart an eye?
'Mong rebel sinners I do dwell,
Who shun Jehovah's praise to swell;
To me more just the vault of hell,
Where vengeance red doth fly.”
But when a seraph touch'd my tongue
With inspiration's power,
Close to the heavenly cause I clung,
With ecstacies, that hour
A willing messenger, to fly,
At God's supreme behests, with joy;
Calling aloud—“Lo! here am I
To go, though judgment lour.”
With inspiration's power,
Close to the heavenly cause I clung,
With ecstacies, that hour
A willing messenger, to fly,
At God's supreme behests, with joy;
Calling aloud—“Lo! here am I
To go, though judgment lour.”
Then issued from Jehovah's throne
The message sad and drear:—
“This people spy out, though they 'lone
Possess my records clear.
So, dim the sight of every eye,
And shut all ears that sound comes nigh,
Lest they repentance should descry,
And find forgiveness here.”
The message sad and drear:—
“This people spy out, though they 'lone
Possess my records clear.
So, dim the sight of every eye,
And shut all ears that sound comes nigh,
Lest they repentance should descry,
And find forgiveness here.”
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |