Poems by Jean Ingelow | ||
III
I will fear you, O stars, never more.
I have felt it! Go on, while the world is asleep,
Golden islands, fast moored in God's infinite deep.
Hark, hark to the words of sweet fashion, the harpings of yore!
How they sang to Him, seer and saint, in the far-away lands:
‘The heavens are the work of Thy hands;
They shall perish, but Thou shalt endure;
Yea, they all shall wax old—
But Thy throne is established, O God, and Thy years are made sure;
They shall perish, but Thou shalt endure—
They shall pass like a tale that is told.’
I have felt it! Go on, while the world is asleep,
Golden islands, fast moored in God's infinite deep.
Hark, hark to the words of sweet fashion, the harpings of yore!
How they sang to Him, seer and saint, in the far-away lands:
‘The heavens are the work of Thy hands;
They shall perish, but Thou shalt endure;
Yea, they all shall wax old—
But Thy throne is established, O God, and Thy years are made sure;
They shall perish, but Thou shalt endure—
They shall pass like a tale that is told.’
Doth He answer, the Ancient of Days?
Will He speak in the tongue and the fashion of men?
(Hist! hist! while the heaven-hung multitudes shine in His praise,
His language of old). Nay, He spoke with them first; it was then
They lifted their eyes to His throne:
‘They shall call on Me, “Thou art our Father, our God, Thou alone!”
For I made them, I led them in deserts and desolate ways;
I have found them a Ransom Divine;
I have loved them with love everlasting, the children of men:
I swear by Myself, they are Mine.’
Will He speak in the tongue and the fashion of men?
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His language of old). Nay, He spoke with them first; it was then
They lifted their eyes to His throne:
‘They shall call on Me, “Thou art our Father, our God, Thou alone!”
For I made them, I led them in deserts and desolate ways;
I have found them a Ransom Divine;
I have loved them with love everlasting, the children of men:
I swear by Myself, they are Mine.’
Poems by Jean Ingelow | ||