Morning Hymn.

O'er Time's mighty billows borne,
Angels lead the purple morn;
Chasing far the shades of night
From the burning throne of light:
Where their glorious wings unfold,
There the east is streaked with gold;
Gilding with celestial dyes
The azure curtain of the skies.
High in air their matin song
Floats the ethereal fields along;
Ere creation wakes they sing,
Glory to the eternal King!
Till silent woods and sleeping plains
Echo far, Jehovah reigns!

    Rising from the arms of night,
Nature hails the birth of light;
Smiling sweetly through her tears,
High her verdant crown she rears;
At her call the sunny hours
Wreathe her humid locks with flowers;
Bright with many a lucid gem
Shines her spotless diadem:
Every grove hath found a voice,
Countless tribes in Thee rejoice!
In melody untaught they sing
Glory to the eternal King!
Earth and heaven respond their strains,
Lord of all, Jehovah reigns!

    On man's sin-bound soul and eyes
Alone the shade of darkness lies:
The last of nature's children he,
To laud the eternal Deity!
The last his sullen voice to raise,
The Lord of life and light to praise--
Slumberer, wake!--arise! arise!
Join the chorus of the skies!--
Dost thou sleep? to whom is given
The privilege of sons of heaven?
Wake with angel choirs to sing
Glory to the Almighty King,
Who life within himself retains--
Lord of all, Jehovah reigns!

    Rising o'er the tide of years,
Lo, a morn more blessed appears:
When yon burning orb of fire,
And moon, and stars, and heavens expire,
And all that once had life and breath,
Emerging from the arms of death,
Shall animate the heaving sod,
And countless millions meet their God!
Whose hand the links of time shall sever,
And man shall wake--to live for ever!
When souls redeemed with angels sing,
Glory to the eternal king!
Vanquished death is led in chains--
Lord of life, Jehovah, reigns!

Susanna Moodie

No biography available

Susanna Moodie

Youth And Age.

Susanna Moodie, Simple Poetry

Winter. Calling Up His Legions.

Susanna Moodie, Simple Poetry

The Christian Mother's Lament.

Susanna Moodie, Simple Poetry

The Evening Hour.

Susanna Moodie, Simple Poetry

English

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Evening Hymn.

Sinking now in floods of light,
The sun resigns the world to night;
When a lingering glance he turns,
The glowing west with glory burns,
And the blushing heavens awhile
Long retain his parting smile.
Ere gray evening's sullen eye,
Bids those tints of beauty die;
Ere her tears have washed away
The footsteps of departing day,
Nature from her verdant bowers
Her last long strain of rapture pours;
Shrouded in her misty vest,
She sings a drowsy world to rest,
And tells to man, in thrilling strains,
That the Lord Jehovah reigns!

    Lingering twilight dies away,
Night resumes her ancient sway,
Round her sable tresses twining
Countless hosts of stars are shining;
Weaving round the brow of night
A coronet of living light:
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Song For The Night Of Christ's Resurrection.

(A Humble Imitation.)

"And birds of calm sit brooding on the charméd wave."

    It is the noon of night,
    And the world's Great Light
Gone out, she widow-like doth carry her:
    The moon hath veiled her face,
    Nor looks on that dread place
Where He lieth dead in sealéd sepulchre;
    And heaven and hades, emptied, lend
Their flocking multitudes to watch and wait the end.

    Tier above tier they rise,
    Their wings new line the skies,
And shed out comforting light among the stars;
    But they of the other place
    The heavenly signs deface,
The gloomy brand of hell their brightness mars;
    Yet high they sit in thronéd state, -
It is the hour of darkness to them dedicate.

    And first and highest set,
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Songs Of The Hours.

THE TWILIGHT HOUR.

Slowly I dawn on the sleepless eye,
Like a dreaming thought of eternity;
But darkness hangs on my misty vest,
Like the shade of care on the sleeper's breast;
A light that is felt--but dimly seen,
Like hope that hangs life and death between;
And the weary watcher will sighing say,
"Lord, I thank thee! 'twill soon be day;"
The lingering night of pain is past,
Morning breaks in the east at last.

    Mortal!--thou mayst see in me
A type of feeble infancy,--
A dim, uncertain, struggling ray,
The promise of a future day!


THE MORNING HOUR.

    Like a maid on her bridal morn I rise,
With the smile on her lip and the tear in her eyes;
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The Coming Of The King.

"O thou afflicted, tossed with tempest, and not comforted, behold, I will lay thy atones with fair colours, and lay thy foundations with sapphires. And I will make thy windows of agates, and thy gates of carbuncles, and all thy borders of pleasant stones. And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children." Isaiah, liv. 11-13.


As the sand of the desert is smitten
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A flash by which dumb things are litten,
    The children of night;
So Thou who of old did'st create us,
    Among the high gods the Most High,
Strike us with Thy brightness, and let us
    Behold Thee, and die.

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Hail, Risen Lord!

Hail, risen Lord, upon whose brow
The crown of victory resteth now,
        Unfading as the sun!
Hail, vanquisher of every foe,
Of Sin, dread source of all our woe,
        And Death - the last undone!

Hail, risen Lord, - the empty grave
Proclaims aloud thy power to save, -
        Thy high, victorious might!
Hail, Lord of life, and peace, and love,
On thy exalted throne above,
        In uncreated light!

Hail, risen Lord, - we bend the knee,
And lift the adoring eye to thee,
        And yield thee worship meet! -
And, while the angelic hosts on high
Shout their hosannas through the sky,
        We breathe them at thy feet

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Morning Hymn

    O Lord of life, thy quickening voice
        Awakes my morning song!
    In gladsome words I would rejoice
        That I to thee belong.

    I see thy light, I feel thy wind;
        The world, it is thy word;
    Whatever wakes my heart and mind,
        Thy presence is, my Lord.

    The living soul which I call me
        Doth love, and long to know;
    It is a thought of living thee,
        Nor forth of thee can go.

    Therefore I choose my highest part,
        And turn my face to thee;
    Therefore I stir my inmost heart
        To worship fervently.

    Lord, let me live and will this day--
        Keep rising from the dead;
    Lord, make my spirit good and gay--
        Give me my daily bread.

...

George MacDonald