 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
118
Giving Thanks
“Say alway, the Lord be praised.”
—Ps. xl. 19.
—Ps. xl. 19.
“The Lord be praised,” I love to say
At blush of morn and evening's rose:
When first the conscious Orient grows
Red with the thought of coming day;
And when mild evening's mantle grey
With streaks of crimson richly glows—
“The Lord be praised,” I love to say,
At blush of morn and evening's rose.
At blush of morn and evening's rose:
When first the conscious Orient grows
Red with the thought of coming day;
And when mild evening's mantle grey
With streaks of crimson richly glows—
“The Lord be praised,” I love to say,
At blush of morn and evening's rose.
As birds pour forth a roundelay
When morn its breezy signal shows,
And when with pensive footstep goes
Calm eve, they join in chorus gay—
“The Lord be praised,” I love to say,
At blush of morn and evening's rose!
When morn its breezy signal shows,
And when with pensive footstep goes
Calm eve, they join in chorus gay—
“The Lord be praised,” I love to say,
At blush of morn and evening's rose!
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