Behold The Sun. (Air.--Lord Mornington.)

Behold the Sun, how bright
From yonder East he springs,
As if the soul of life and light
Were breathing from his wings.

So bright the Gospel broke
Upon the souls of men;
So fresh the dreaming world awoke
In Truth's full radiance then.

Before yon Sun arose,
Stars clustered thro' the sky--
But oh how dim, how pale were those,
To His one burning eye!

So Truth lent many a ray,
    To bless the Pagan's night--
But, Lord, how weak, how cold were they
    To Thy One glorious Light!

Thomas Moore

Thomas Moore was an Irish poet, singer, and songwriter, celebrated for his Irish Melodies, which are now considered a staple of Irish cultural heritage. Born on May 28, 1779, in Dublin, Ireland, Moore gained fame for his lyrical songs, many of which were set to traditional Irish tunes. Not only a poet, but he was also a staunch advocate of Irish nationalism, often incorporating themes of national identity and resistance into his work. Moore's influential collection 'Irish Melodies' became popular in both Ireland and Britain and helped to define the literary output of the era. He passed away on February 25, 1852, but his legacy in Irish literature and music endures.

Thomas Moore

Young Jessica.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

To The Lord Viscount Forbes.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Translations From Catullus. Carm. II.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode VIII.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

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Awake, Arise, Thy Light Is Come. (Air.--Stevenson.)

Awake, arise, thy light is come;^[1]
    The nations, that before outshone thee,
Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb--
    The glory of the Lord is on thee!

Arise--the Gentiles to thy ray,
    From every nook of earth shall cluster;
And kings and princes haste to pay
    Their homage to thy rising lustre.^[2]

Lift up thine eyes around, and see
    O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters,
Thy exiled sons return to thee,
    To thee return thy home-sick daughters.^[3]

And camels rich, from Midians' tents,
    Shall lay their treasures down before thee;
And Saba bring her gold and scents,
    To fill thy air and sparkle o'er thee.^[4]

See, who are these that, like a cloud,^[5]
    Are ...

Thomas Moore

Thou Art, O God.

(Air.--Unknown.)^[1]


        "The day is thine, the night is also thine: thou hast prepared the light and the sun.

        "Thou hast set all the borders of the earth: thou hast made summer and winter."
        --Psalm lxxiv. 16, 17.


Thou art, O God, the life and light
    Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
    Are but reflections caught from Thee.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
    And all things fair and bright are Thine!

When Day, with farewell beam, delays
    Among the opening clouds of Even,
And we can almost think we gaze
    Thro' golden vistas into Heaven--
Those hues, that make the Sun's decline
So soft, so radiant, LORD! are Thine.

When Night, with ...

Thomas Moore

See, The Dawn From Heaven. (To An Air Sung At Rome, On Christmas Eve.)

See, the dawn from Heaven is breaking
    O'er our sight,
And Earth from sin awaking,
    Hails the light!
See those groups of angels, winging
    From the realms above,
On their brows, from Eden, bringing
    Wreaths of Hope and Love.

Hark, their hymns of glory pealing
    Thro' the air,
To mortal ears revealing
    Who lies there!
In that dwelling, dark and lowly,
    Sleeps the Heavenly Son,
He, whose home's above,--the Holy,
    Ever Holy One!

Thomas Moore

Sunrise.

How few there are who know the pure delight,
The chaste influence, and the solace sweet,
Of walking forth to see the glorious sight,
When nature rises, with respect, to greet
The lord of day on his majestic seat,
Like some great personage of high degree,
Who cometh forth his subjects all to meet,
Like him, but yet more glorious far than he,
He comes with splendor bright, to shed o'er land and sea.

With stately, slow and solemn march he comes,
And gradually pours forth his brilliant rays,
Unheralded by sounding brass or drums,
His blazing glory on our planet plays,
And sendeth healing light thro' darken'd ways.
His undimm'd splendor maketh mortals quail,
And e'en, at times, it fiercely strikes and slays;
But then it brighteneth the cheek so pale,
Rev...

Thomas Frederick Young

Like Morning, When Her Early Breeze. (Air. Beethoven.)

Like morning, when her early breeze
Breaks up the surface of the seas,
That, in those furrows, dark with night,
Her hand may sow the seeds of light--

Thy Grace can send its breathings o'er
The Spirit, dark and lost before,
And, freshening all its depths, prepare
For Truth divine to enter there.

Till David touched his sacred lyre.
In silence lay the unbreathing wire;
But when he swept its chords along,
Even Angels stooped to hear that song.

So sleeps the soul, till Thou, oh LORD,
Shalt deign to touch its lifeless chord--
Till, waked by Thee, its breath shall rise
In music, worthy of the skies!

Thomas Moore

Rhymes On The Road. Extract I. Geneva.

View of the Lake of Geneva from the Jura.^[1]--Anxious to reach it before the Sun went down.--Obliged to proceed on Foot.--Alps.--Mont Blanc.--Effect of the Scene.


'Twas late--the sun had almost shone
His last and best when I ran on
Anxious to reach that splendid view
Before the daybeams quite withdrew
And feeling as all feel on first
    Approaching scenes where, they are told,
Such glories on their eyes will burst
    As youthful bards in dreams behold.

'Twas distant yet and as I ran
    Full often was my wistful gaze
Turned to the sun who now began
    To call in all his out-posts rays,
And form a denser march of light,
Such as beseems a hero's flight.
Oh, how I wisht for JOSHUA'S power,
To stay the brightness of that hour...

Thomas Moore