 | Art and Fashion |  |
217
MORN.
See morn o'er the heavens
Is sailing divine;
Her barque is all golden
And purple each line;
Her flag blue and crimson;
And over the skies
She sweeps in her beauty,
To gladden all eyes.
Is sailing divine;
Her barque is all golden
And purple each line;
Her flag blue and crimson;
And over the skies
She sweeps in her beauty,
To gladden all eyes.
The chequer'd horizon
Spreads wide on the sight,
Like islands of glory
Where angels alight!
And the barque dashes onward
O'er billows of clouds,
Whilst the lark, like a sailor,
Sings high 'mid the shrouds!
Spreads wide on the sight,
Like islands of glory
Where angels alight!
And the barque dashes onward
O'er billows of clouds,
Whilst the lark, like a sailor,
Sings high 'mid the shrouds!
218
Oh! that man through life's voyage,
Whatever storm wars,
Would keep his soul's pennant
Still fix'd 'mid the stars!
Till the harbour appearing,
For which he had striven,
Life's vessel might rest,
Safely anchor'd in Heaven.
Whatever storm wars,
Would keep his soul's pennant
Still fix'd 'mid the stars!
Till the harbour appearing,
For which he had striven,
Life's vessel might rest,
Safely anchor'd in Heaven.
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