Sweet as the harps that hung by Babel’s streams.
The glory of the Lord will ever be
Thy sole and perfect light;
No need hast thou then, to illumine thee
Of sun by day, or moon and stars by night.
I would that, where God’s spirit was of yore
Poured out unto thy holy ones, I might
There too my soul outpour.
Oh, who will lead me on
To seek the spots where, in far distant years,