 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
Nature; or, The Minstrel
“Bring me a minstrel,” was the prophet's cry;And when with soothing strains “the minstrel played,”
The prophet's spirit like a harp was swayed,
And God's own will swept o'er him from on high.
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To minister thy tranquillizing aid:
At sultry noontide or in evening shade,
Lend me thy solace when I droop or sigh.
Play to me, minstrel, in the whispering wind,
The rippling water, and the rustling tree,
And smooth and harmonize the ruffled mind:
Then speak, Lord, by Thy Spirit sweet and free,
And a receptive listener Thou shalt find,
Maker and God of Nature and of me!
| Lyra Pastoralis | |