 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
STROPHE.
Wielder of Worlds, that round Elysium dance
Beneath the brightness of thy sleepless eye,
Who from the bosom of the flame dost glance,
And feel'st our time in thine Eternity!
Thou deathless Jove!
Monarch of awe and Love!
Look from the radiant height of thy dominion
On thine adorers now,
And waft thy smile on Hermes' rainbow pinion,
And bend thine awful brow!
Immortal and supreme!
With vows and victims to thy shrine we come,
With hearts that breathe the incense of their praise,
And first fruits borne from each protected home,
To bless thee for the blessings of our days!
Have we not heard thy spirit in the dreams,
That glance o'er thought like morn's young light on streams?
In visions, watched thy bird of triumph near
The azure realms of thine ethereal sphere,
Waiting behests of victories and powers
And counsels from thy throne!
Hath not thy thunder voice, the summer showers,
The lightning spirit, all thine own,
Bade strew the exulting earth with fruits and flowers?
Therefore, we render up
The spotless victim from the wood
And household field, and from libation cup
Pour the rich vine's unmingled blood.
Accept our praise and prayer,
Sceptred Immortal of the chainless Air!
Chorus.
Beneath the brightness of thy sleepless eye,
Who from the bosom of the flame dost glance,
And feel'st our time in thine Eternity!
Thou deathless Jove!
Monarch of awe and Love!
Look from the radiant height of thy dominion
On thine adorers now,
93
And bend thine awful brow!
Immortal and supreme!
With vows and victims to thy shrine we come,
With hearts that breathe the incense of their praise,
And first fruits borne from each protected home,
To bless thee for the blessings of our days!
Have we not heard thy spirit in the dreams,
That glance o'er thought like morn's young light on streams?
In visions, watched thy bird of triumph near
The azure realms of thine ethereal sphere,
Waiting behests of victories and powers
And counsels from thy throne!
Hath not thy thunder voice, the summer showers,
The lightning spirit, all thine own,
Bade strew the exulting earth with fruits and flowers?
Therefore, we render up
The spotless victim from the wood
And household field, and from libation cup
Pour the rich vine's unmingled blood.
Accept our praise and prayer,
Sceptred Immortal of the chainless Air!
—King of Elysium! hear, oh hear
From thine Olympian seat!
To priest and people bow thy sovereign ear!
We dare not see thy face, but kiss thy sacred feet!
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |