Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 31 1832.pdf/13

That by the passion of its deep distress,
    And by the o'erflowing of its mighty prayer,
And by the yearning of its tenderness,
    Too full for words upon their stream to bear,
I have been drawn still closer to thy shrine,
Well-spring of love, the unfathom'd, the divine:
I bless Thee, O my God!

That hope hath ne'er my heart or song forsaken,
    High hope, which even from mystery, doubt, or dread,
Calmly, rejoicingly, the things hath taken,
    Whereby its torchlight for the race was fed;
That passing storms have only fann'd the fire,
Which pierced them still with its triumphal spire,
I bless Thee, O my God!

Now art Thou calling me in every gale,
    Each sound and token of the dying day!
Thou leav'st me not, though earthly life grows pale,
    I am not darkly sinking to decay;
But, hour by hour, my soul's dissolving shroud
Melts off to radiance, as a silvery cloud.
I bless Thee, O my God!

And if this earth, with all its choral streams,
    And crowning woods, and soft or solemn skies,
And mountain-sanctuaries for poet's dreams,
    Be lovely still in my departing eyes;
'Tis not that fondly I would linger here,
But that thy foot-prints on its dust appear:
I bless Thee, O my God!

And that the tender shadowing I behold,
    The tracery veining every leaf and flower,
Of glories cast in more consummate mould,
    No longer vassals to the changeful hour;
That life's last roses to my thoughts can bring
Rich visions of imperishable spring:
I bless Thee, O my God!

Yes! the young vernal voices in the skies
    Woo me not back, but, wandering past mine ear,
Seem heralds of th' eternal melodies,
    The spirit-music, unperturb'd and clear;
The full of soul, yet passionate no more—
—Let me too, joining those pure strains, adore!
I bless Thee, O my God!

Now aid, sustain me still!—to Thee I come,
    Make Thou my dwelling where thy children are!
And for the hope of that immortal home,
    And for thy Son, the bright and morning star,
The Sufferer and the Victor-king of Death,
I bless Thee with my glad song's dying breath!
I bless Thee, O my God!