SETTING SUN, FROM LANSDOWNE, CHELTENHAM.
THE setting sun with golden beam,
O'er distant hills and vale is shed;
Bright emblem of the fading day,
Dying in splendour o'er our head.
O'er distant hills and vale is shed;
Bright emblem of the fading day,
Dying in splendour o'er our head.
The moon now rising pale and wan,
Athwart the noble Cotswold Hills;
Hangs like a silver crescent fair,
Poised on the brow of heaven's stile!
Athwart the noble Cotswold Hills;
Hangs like a silver crescent fair,
Poised on the brow of heaven's stile!
Who can walk on this gentle eve
Heedless alike of heaven and earth;
And ne'er believe some Mighty Hand
To all creation did give birth?
Heedless alike of heaven and earth;
And ne'er believe some Mighty Hand
To all creation did give birth?
Dreamers who in their search for lore,
Vain mortal folly only prove;
Show in truth those are the safest,
That rest in God's Almighty love!
Vain mortal folly only prove;
Show in truth those are the safest,
That rest in God's Almighty love!
Genius, talent, are they dross,
To be flittered thus away?
Ah! they're golden treasures given,
To be reckoned the Last Day!
To be flittered thus away?
Ah! they're golden treasures given,
To be reckoned the Last Day!
Let your thoughts be one with God's thoughts,
And wreath His truth around thy heart;
And to the cross then firmly cling,
Nor let thy arms thus from it part.
And wreath His truth around thy heart;
And to the cross then firmly cling,
Nor let thy arms thus from it part.