There is a bleak Desert, where daylight grows weary
Of wasting its smile on a region so dreary—
What may that Desert be?
'Tis Life, cheerless Life, where the few joys that come
Are lost, like that daylight, for 'tis not their home.
There is a lone Pilgrim, before whose faint eyes
The water he pants for but sparkles and flies—
Who may that Pilgrim be?
'Tis Man, hapless Man, thro' this life tempted on
By fair shining hopes, that in shining are gone.
There is a bright Fountain, thro' that Desert stealing
To pure lips alone its refreshment revealing—
What may that Fountain be?
'Tis Truth, holy Truth, that, like springs under ground,
By the gifted of Heaven alone can be found.
There is a fair Spirit whose wand hath the spell
To point where those waters in secrecy dwell—
Who may that Spirit be?
'Tis Faith, humble Faith, who hath learned that where'er
Her wand bends to worship the Truth must be there!
SINCE FIRST THY WORD.
(AIR.—NICHOLAS FREEMAN.)
Since first Thy Word awaked my heart,
Like new life dawning o'er me,
Where'er I turn mine eyes, Thou art,
All light and love before me.
Naught else I feel, or hear or see—
All bonds of earth I sever—
Thee, O God, and only Thee
I live for, now and ever.
Like him whose fetters dropt away
When light shone o'er his prison,[1]
My spirit, touched by Mercy's ray,
Hath from her chains arisen.
And shall a soul Thou bidst be free,
Return to bondage?—never!
Thee, O God, and only Thee
I live for, now and ever.
[1] "And, behold, the angel of the Lord came upon him, and a light shined in the prison…and his chains fell off from his hands."—Acts, xii. 7.