 |
| I. |
|
|
| I. | PART I.
Haydn's ‘Creation.’ |
| II. |
| III. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| II. |
|
| I. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| V. |
| VI. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| VII. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| X. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| 15. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
|
 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
I. PART I. Haydn's ‘Creation.’
‘We bless Thee for our creation.’
What is the first and simplest praise,
The universal debt,
Which yet the thoughtless heart of man
So quickly may forget?
‘We bless Thee for creation!’
So taught the noble band
Who left a sound and holy form,
For ages yet to stand,
Rich legacy of praise and prayer,
Laid up through ages past,
Strong witness for the truth of God:
Oh, may we hold it fast!
The universal debt,
Which yet the thoughtless heart of man
So quickly may forget?
‘We bless Thee for creation!’
So taught the noble band
Who left a sound and holy form,
For ages yet to stand,
Rich legacy of praise and prayer,
Laid up through ages past,
Strong witness for the truth of God:
Oh, may we hold it fast!
‘We bless Thee for creation!’
So are we blithely taught
By Haydn's joyous spirit;
Such was the praise he brought.
A praise all morning sunshine,
And sparklets of the spring,
O'er which the long life-shadows
No chastening softness fling.
So are we blithely taught
By Haydn's joyous spirit;
Such was the praise he brought.
A praise all morning sunshine,
And sparklets of the spring,
O'er which the long life-shadows
No chastening softness fling.
12
A praise of early freshness,
Of carol and of trill,
Re-echoing all the music
Of valley and of rill.
A praise that we are sharing
With every singing breeze,
With nightingales and linnets,
With waterfalls and trees;
With anthems of the flowers
Too delicate and sweet
For all their fairy minstrelsy
Our mortal ears to greet.
Of carol and of trill,
Re-echoing all the music
Of valley and of rill.
A praise that we are sharing
With every singing breeze,
With nightingales and linnets,
With waterfalls and trees;
With anthems of the flowers
Too delicate and sweet
For all their fairy minstrelsy
Our mortal ears to greet.
A mighty song of blessing
Archangels too uplift,
For their own bright existence,
A grand and glorious gift.
But such their full life-chalice,
So sparkling and so pure,
And such their vivid sense of joy,
Sweet, solid, and secure,
We cannot write the harmonies
To such a song of bliss,
We only catch the melody,
And sing, content with this.
Archangels too uplift,
For their own bright existence,
A grand and glorious gift.
But such their full life-chalice,
So sparkling and so pure,
And such their vivid sense of joy,
Sweet, solid, and secure,
We cannot write the harmonies
To such a song of bliss,
We only catch the melody,
And sing, content with this.
We are but little children,
And earth a broken toy;
We do not know the treasures
In our Father's house of joy.
Thanksgivings for creation
We ignorantly raise;
We know not yet the thousandth part
Of that for which we praise.
And earth a broken toy;
We do not know the treasures
In our Father's house of joy.
Thanksgivings for creation
We ignorantly raise;
13
Of that for which we praise.
Yet, praise Him for creation!
Nor cease the happy song,
But this our Hallelujah
Through all our life prolong;
'T will mingle with the chorus
Before the heavenly throne,
Where what it truly is to be
Shall first be fully known.
Nor cease the happy song,
But this our Hallelujah
Through all our life prolong;
'T will mingle with the chorus
Before the heavenly throne,
Where what it truly is to be
Shall first be fully known.
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |