 | Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights |  |
ALAMOTH;
OR, THE SONG OF HIDDEN THINGS.
Thine own Evangels are divinest Revelations,
And thou the Apotheosis of thy sweet Song!
Pour forth, Oh! Soul! thy heavenly ministrations,
And let thy rivers of rich honey flow out all night long!
And thou the Apotheosis of thy sweet Song!
Pour forth, Oh! Soul! thy heavenly ministrations,
And let thy rivers of rich honey flow out all night long!
Reveal to us the Vision thou art seeing
At heaven's high Gates, in rapture-tones sublime,
Through the Apocalypse of thy divinest being—
Quenching with God's sky-rivers all the thirsting souls of Time.
At heaven's high Gates, in rapture-tones sublime,
Through the Apocalypse of thy divinest being—
Quenching with God's sky-rivers all the thirsting souls of Time.
Give us some history of that high-up Yonder,
Above the Stars—where thunders never roll—
Where dwell the souls for whom our own grow fonder,
As, year by year, we grow more like them here in soul!
Above the Stars—where thunders never roll—
Where dwell the souls for whom our own grow fonder,
As, year by year, we grow more like them here in soul!
Oh! God! lift up that Heaven-concealing Curtain
Which hides the Holy of Holies from our eyes;
And let us see, that we may know for certain,
If those we loved here most wait for us in the skies!
Which hides the Holy of Holies from our eyes;
And let us see, that we may know for certain,
If those we loved here most wait for us in the skies!
52
Yon Starry Scripture tells but half the story,
Shining in splendor on the outward walls above—
(Like Angels camped upon the Fields of Glory—)
They show us not God's face, nor those dear souls we love!
Shining in splendor on the outward walls above—
(Like Angels camped upon the Fields of Glory—)
They show us not God's face, nor those dear souls we love!
Show us, dear Lord! reveal to us more clearly
The glories that await us there on high;
And those fond souls we loved on earth so dearly,
And we will weep no more, but wait with patient joy to die!
The glories that await us there on high;
And those fond souls we loved on earth so dearly,
And we will weep no more, but wait with patient joy to die!
| Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights | |