 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary with introduction and notes |  |
SABBATH THOUGHTS.
I am sitting all the while
Looking down the solemn aisle,
Toward the saints and martyrs old,
Standing in their niches cold,—
Toward the wings of cherubs fair,
Veiling half their golden hair,
And the painted light that falls
Through the window on the walls.
Looking down the solemn aisle,
Toward the saints and martyrs old,
Standing in their niches cold,—
Toward the wings of cherubs fair,
Veiling half their golden hair,
And the painted light that falls
Through the window on the walls.
I can see the revered flow
Of soft garments, white as snow,
And the shade of silver hair
Dropping on the book of prayer.
I can hear the litany,
“Miserable sinners, we!”
And the organ swelling higher,
And the chanting of the choir.
Of soft garments, white as snow,
And the shade of silver hair
Dropping on the book of prayer.
I can hear the litany,
“Miserable sinners, we!”
And the organ swelling higher,
And the chanting of the choir.
And I marvel if with them,
In the new Jerusalem,
I shall hear the sacred choir
Chant with flaming tongues of fire;
If I e'er shall find a place
With the ransomed, saved by grace;
If my feet shall ever tread
Where the just are perfected?
In the new Jerusalem,
I shall hear the sacred choir
Chant with flaming tongues of fire;
If I e'er shall find a place
With the ransomed, saved by grace;
If my feet shall ever tread
Where the just are perfected?
Not, my soul, as now thou art;
Not with this rebellious heart;
Not with nature unsubdued,
Evil overshadowing good;
Not while I for pardon seek
With a faith so faint and weak;
Not while tempted thus to sin,
From without and from within!
Not with this rebellious heart;
Not with nature unsubdued,
Evil overshadowing good;
Not while I for pardon seek
With a faith so faint and weak;
Not while tempted thus to sin,
From without and from within!
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Thou whom love did once compel
Down from heaven to sleep in hell;
Thou whose mercy purged from dross
Even the thief upon the cross,
Save me, O thou bleeding Lamb,
Chief of sinners though I am,
When, with clouds about thee furled,
Thou shalt come to judge the world!
Down from heaven to sleep in hell;
Thou whose mercy purged from dross
Even the thief upon the cross,
Save me, O thou bleeding Lamb,
Chief of sinners though I am,
When, with clouds about thee furled,
Thou shalt come to judge the world!
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary with introduction and notes | |