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The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore

Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes
Moore, Thomas (1779-1852)
  
[dedication]

expand sectionI, II. 
VOL. I., VOL. II. ODES OF ANACREON. JUVENILE POEMS. POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA.
collapse sectionIII, IV. 
VOL. III., VOL. IV. CORRUPTION AND INTOLERANCE. THE SCEPTIC. TWOPENNY POST-BAG. SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. IRISH MELODIES. NATIONAL AIRS. SACRED SONGS.
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CORRUPTION, AND INTOLERANCE.
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THE SCEPTIC,
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TWOPENNY POST-BAG.
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SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS.
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IRISH MELODIES.
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NATIONAL AIRS.
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SACRED SONGS.
  
[dedication]
  
THOU ART, O GOD.
  
THE BIRD, LET LOOSE.
  
FALLEN IS THY THRONE.
  
WHO IS THE MAID?
  
THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW.
  
OH THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR.
  
WEEP NOT FOR THOSE.
  
THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRAGRANT SHRINE.
  
SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL.
  
GO, LET ME WEEP.
  
COME NOT, OH LORD.
  
WERE NOT THE SINFUL MARY'S TEARS.
  
AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS.
  
BUT WHO SHALL SEE
  
ALMIGHTY GOD!
  
OH FAIR! OH PUREST!
  
ANGEL OF CHARITY.
  
BEHOLD THE SUN.
  
LORD, WHO SHALL BEAR THAT DAY.
  
OH, TEACH ME TO LOVE THEE.
  
WEEP, CHILDREN OF ISRAEL.
  
LIKE MORNING, WHEN HER EARLY BREEZE.
  
COME, YE DISCONSOLATE.
  
AWAKE, ARISE, THY LIGHT IS COME.
  
THERE IS A BLEAK DESERT.
  
SINCE FIRST THY WORD.
  
HARK! 'TIS THE BREEZE.
  
WHERE IS YOUR DWELLING, YE SAINTED?
  
HOW LIGHTLY MOUNTS THE MUSE'S WING.
  
GO FORTH TO THE MOUNT.
  
IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, HEREAFTER.
  
WAR AGAINST BABYLON.
  
THE SUMMER FÊTE.
expand sectionV. 
VOL. V. EVENINGS IN GREECE. BALLADS, SONGS, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, ETC. ETC.
expand sectionVI, VII. 
VOL. VI., VOL. VII. LALLA ROOKH. POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. RHYMES ON THE ROAD. AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
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VOL. VIII., VOL. IX THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. MISCELLANEOUS.
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VOL. X. THE EPICUREAN. ALCIPHRON.

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276

AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS.

[_]

(Air.—Haydn.)

As down in the sunless retreats of the Ocean,
Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,
So, deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion,
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee,
My God! silent, to Thee—
Pure, warm, silent, to Thee.
As still to the star of its worship, though clouded,
The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea,
So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded,
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee,
My God! trembling, to Thee—
True, fond, trembling, to Thee.
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