409
L. M.
You hath he quickened.
Col. 2:13.
Like morning—when her early breeze
Breaks up the surface of the seas,
That, in their furrows, dark with night,
Her hand may sow the seeds of light—
2 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.
3 Till David touched his sacred lyre,
In silence lay the unbreathing wire;
But when he swept its chords along,
Then angels stooped to hear the song.
4 So sleeps the soul, till thou, O Lord,
Shall deign to touch its lifeless chord;
Till, waked by thee, its breath shall rise,
In music worthy of the skies.
Moore.