 | From Sunset Ridge |  |
147
SELF-COMMUNINGS
I read a record poor and mean,
From which Time lifts the glittering screen:
Evil pursued, good left undone,
From break of dawn to set of sun.
What shall the judgment Angel write?
Lord, let thy hammer smite!
From which Time lifts the glittering screen:
Evil pursued, good left undone,
From break of dawn to set of sun.
What shall the judgment Angel write?
Lord, let thy hammer smite!
My soul hath ta'en her easy seat
On many a monstrous false conceit,
With flimsy sceptre, bubble-blown;
Mankind should worship at her throne.
What shall the true King's sentence write?
Quick, let the hammer smite!
On many a monstrous false conceit,
With flimsy sceptre, bubble-blown;
Mankind should worship at her throne.
What shall the true King's sentence write?
Quick, let the hammer smite!
Oh! garish hunt of worldly joys!
Thy gilded bugles make brave noise,
But when the gay pursuit is crowned,
The laughing fiend alone is found.
Lord, let thy hammer smite!
Thy gilded bugles make brave noise,
But when the gay pursuit is crowned,
The laughing fiend alone is found.
Lord, let thy hammer smite!
But, Lord, this sinner was not I:
With thee my soul's aspirings lie;
Dispel thou the fantastic dream,
Take back the vapor to the stream!
Lord, with thy sunlight smite!
With thee my soul's aspirings lie;
Dispel thou the fantastic dream,
Take back the vapor to the stream!
Lord, with thy sunlight smite!
| From Sunset Ridge | |