Then a vision full of gladness
Came, sent forth by Him supreme
Who his suffering servants' sadness
Oft dispelleth in a dream.
In his view the lively dream sets
Hills and vales in verdure bright;
Where the gaily-prattling streamlets
Sparkle in the morning-light.
Hark! the holy bell is swinging,
Calling to the house of prayer;
Loud resounds the solemn ringing
Through the still and balmy air.
Youths and maids from glen and mountain
Hasten at the hallowed sound,
Old men rest by shady fountain,
Children lay them on the ground.
Now the pious throng is streaming
Through the temple's portal low;
Rapture in each face is beaming
Pure devotion's genuine glow.
Fervently the hoary pastor,
Humbly bent before his God,
Supplicates their heavenly Master
Them to lead on Sion's road;
Owns that all have widely erred
From the true, the narrow way,
That with Him we have no merit,
And no claim of right can lay.
Loud then rise in choral measure
Hymns of gratitude and praise,
As, inspired with solemn pleasure,
Unto Heaven their strains they raise.
Now the grave discourse beginneth,
Which, ungraced by rhetoric's arts,
Quick the rapt attention winneth,
While it glorious truths imparts;