 | Morning Glories : |  |
THE NEW ORGAN.
Thou monstrous gilt and rainbow-tinted thing,
With many a thousand-mouthed tuneful throat,
Help us God's praises here to-day to sing,
With happy hearts we raise our joyful note.
With many a thousand-mouthed tuneful throat,
Help us God's praises here to-day to sing,
With happy hearts we raise our joyful note.
What charms thou show'st to our uplifted gaze,
Some mystic hand seems now to lend thee power,
That fillest us with wonder and with praise,
And mute we stand and tremble and adore.
Some mystic hand seems now to lend thee power,
That fillest us with wonder and with praise,
And mute we stand and tremble and adore.
69
Thou seemest almost human in thy tones;
Even he who built thee did not understand—
Sometimes low, plaintive, then so full of mirth,
That thou wert peopled by an angel band.
Even he who built thee did not understand—
Sometimes low, plaintive, then so full of mirth,
That thou wert peopled by an angel band.
O, tell us in thy strong, yet sweetest strain,
That He who died, now liveth evermore;
Yea, thunder forth the sweet, ah! sweet refrain,
That Christ has left for men ajar the door.
That He who died, now liveth evermore;
Yea, thunder forth the sweet, ah! sweet refrain,
That Christ has left for men ajar the door.
And tell, forevermore, “Salvation's free,”
And pardon come to whosoever will;
Turn quick away from guilt and misery;
This pardon comes the hungry soul to fill.
And pardon come to whosoever will;
Turn quick away from guilt and misery;
This pardon comes the hungry soul to fill.
And on the very air shall praises float,
While cherubim and seraphim shall sing;
And earth shall raise her very highest note,
While heaven, with loudest note, Alleluias ring!
While cherubim and seraphim shall sing;
And earth shall raise her very highest note,
While heaven, with loudest note, Alleluias ring!
When earth is wrecked and matter all consumed,
And all our labor here hath found an end,
Our happy souls shall strike harps, heavenly tuned—
Our voices with angelic voices blend.
And all our labor here hath found an end,
Our happy souls shall strike harps, heavenly tuned—
Our voices with angelic voices blend.
So we shall praise Him while He lends us breath,
On viol, timbrel, lute, and harp and strings,
And when our mortal tongues are still in death,
Our praise shall mount on high on music's wings.
On viol, timbrel, lute, and harp and strings,
And when our mortal tongues are still in death,
Our praise shall mount on high on music's wings.
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