One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads Original, and suitable for music [by Jean Ingelow] |
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SONG OF PRAISE FOR LONDON.
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 | One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads |  |
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SONG OF PRAISE FOR LONDON.
With a Chorus.
“Praise is comely.”
On Zion's hill the sacred dust
Lies bare 'neath arid skies;
From ruin'd walls her sons are thrust,
Foregone her sacrifice.
But Zion's voice lives yet; and brought
Adown the ages ring
The songs of praise he sweetly taught
That was her shepherd king.
Lies bare 'neath arid skies;
From ruin'd walls her sons are thrust,
Foregone her sacrifice.
But Zion's voice lives yet; and brought
Adown the ages ring
The songs of praise he sweetly taught
That was her shepherd king.
O King David! King David sang of old
Among the little water'd valleys while he watch'd the fold;
Over rocks of wild En-gedi when he sheathed the sword:
And would we had King David's harp, and so could praise the Lord!
Among the little water'd valleys while he watch'd the fold;
Over rocks of wild En-gedi when he sheathed the sword:
And would we had King David's harp, and so could praise the Lord!
“I will give thanks, my God, O King,
And of Thy goodness tell;
Upon the heights of Zion sing
Thou Hope of Israel.
The hill of Zion is right fair—
A city of great fame;
For why? The Lord our God is there,
Excellent is His name.
And of Thy goodness tell;
Upon the heights of Zion sing
Thou Hope of Israel.
The hill of Zion is right fair—
A city of great fame;
For why? The Lord our God is there,
Excellent is His name.
“Ye tribes that in His courts have stood,
Ye priests that on Him wait,
O praise the Lord, for He is good,
And only He is great.
Praise Him, thou great, thou lesser light,
That toil and sleep control;
Praise Him, you angels in the height;
Praise the Lord, O my soul.”
Ye priests that on Him wait,
O praise the Lord, for He is good,
And only He is great.
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That toil and sleep control;
Praise Him, you angels in the height;
Praise the Lord, O my soul.”
O King David! King David on his throne
And under murmurous cedars making dusks on Lebanon,
And by the Jordan's sailless waters sang full sweet and clear:
And though King David's harp be mute, let us sing praises here.
And under murmurous cedars making dusks on Lebanon,
And by the Jordan's sailless waters sang full sweet and clear:
And though King David's harp be mute, let us sing praises here.
For somewhat aye that moves and yearns
To all things just and free;
For many a soul that inly burns
More righteous days to see;
For peace, for law, for gold, for wheat,
And for His printed word,
Praise Him, ye throngs in every street;
Great London, praise the Lord.
To all things just and free;
For many a soul that inly burns
More righteous days to see;
For peace, for law, for gold, for wheat,
And for His printed word,
Praise Him, ye throngs in every street;
Great London, praise the Lord.
Ye that her bridges cross by night,
Where on the river play
A thousand stars from lamps alight,
That mete out narrower day,
Praise Him, and say this river bears
Great fleets that ceaseless go;
And yet, for these eight hundred years
Hath not borne in a foe.
Where on the river play
A thousand stars from lamps alight,
That mete out narrower day,
Praise Him, and say this river bears
Great fleets that ceaseless go;
And yet, for these eight hundred years
Hath not borne in a foe.
Praise Him, great city fair and free,
And helpless, but for God;
Nor siege, nor sack have frighted thee,
Of alien hosts untrod.
Praise Him, and pray while yet 'tis well,
Nor danger nigh thee waits;
Pray thy Celestial Sentinel
To guard thy silver gates.
And helpless, but for God;
Nor siege, nor sack have frighted thee,
Of alien hosts untrod.
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Nor danger nigh thee waits;
Pray thy Celestial Sentinel
To guard thy silver gates.
Praise Him, when clash thy weighty hours
By measure night and day;
Praise Him, while yet a hundred towers
Ring out thy times to pray.
Praise Him, where murmurous fall and swell
(As of some wind-borne chord)
The majesty of millions tell;
Great London, praise the Lord!
By measure night and day;
Praise Him, while yet a hundred towers
Ring out thy times to pray.
Praise Him, where murmurous fall and swell
(As of some wind-borne chord)
The majesty of millions tell;
Great London, praise the Lord!
O King David! King David's harp rang true;
But we have learn'd a wondrous song King David never knew.
To One was born of David's line, sing high with sweet accord;
For One who died that we might live, great London, praise the Lord!
But we have learn'd a wondrous song King David never knew.
To One was born of David's line, sing high with sweet accord;
For One who died that we might live, great London, praise the Lord!
| One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads | |