One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads Original, and suitable for music [by Jean Ingelow] |
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[Now the psalm to heaven ascending] |
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 | One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads |  |
14
[Now the psalm to heaven ascending]
“Let my prayer come before Thee: incline Thine ear unto my cry,.”
Now the psalm to heaven ascending,
Sighs of heart are with it blending;
Close together, all unknown,
Each from each doth stand alone.
Nothing of our grief we tell,
Nay, but, God, Thou knowest it well;
Each from Thee for comfort seeks,
In whose ear the silence speaks.
Sighs of heart are with it blending;
Close together, all unknown,
Each from each doth stand alone.
Nothing of our grief we tell,
Nay, but, God, Thou knowest it well;
Each from Thee for comfort seeks,
In whose ear the silence speaks.
Is it poverty? He knoweth,
In whose light the hid thing showeth;
Straighten'd measure, endless care,
Hard for them we love to bear
Left behind in life's great plan,
Seeking not for aid from man,
Thou the want, the strife canst see,
The poor commends himself to Thee.
In whose light the hid thing showeth;
Straighten'd measure, endless care,
Hard for them we love to bear
Left behind in life's great plan,
Seeking not for aid from man,
Thou the want, the strife canst see,
The poor commends himself to Thee.
Is it sorrow? God, He knoweth,
Up to whom the sighing goeth;
Yea, He knoweth, who doth bless,
Yet not spare its bitterness.
I, in sorrow, pain, and loss,
Kiss with many tears the cross;
Tears are my meat: comfort Thou me,
My tears commend themselves to Thee.
Up to whom the sighing goeth;
Yea, He knoweth, who doth bless,
Yet not spare its bitterness.
I, in sorrow, pain, and loss,
Kiss with many tears the cross;
Tears are my meat: comfort Thou me,
My tears commend themselves to Thee.
15
Is it sin? Good Lord, Thou knowest;
My dark places Thou me showest;
Though Thy mercy hold me fast,
Nothing can undo the past;
I repent me of my ways;
I go softly all my days;
My sinful soul doth only flee—
Doth still commend itself to Thee.
My dark places Thou me showest;
Though Thy mercy hold me fast,
Nothing can undo the past;
I repent me of my ways;
I go softly all my days;
My sinful soul doth only flee—
Doth still commend itself to Thee.
Lend Thy wings, immortal Dove,
Bear our wants, our tears above.
Live, Thou Lord that didst atone,
Great High Priest, before the throne;
Little of our griefs we tell,
Thou, O Father, knowest them well;
Each from Thee may comfort seek,
In whose ear doth silence speak.
Bear our wants, our tears above.
Live, Thou Lord that didst atone,
Great High Priest, before the throne;
Little of our griefs we tell,
Thou, O Father, knowest them well;
Each from Thee may comfort seek,
In whose ear doth silence speak.
| One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads | |