Are sounds to you from heav’n conveyed?

Never behold ye the celestial bands

Upon your sacred domes alight and bend?

Never the harpings hear of angel-hands,

Back from the rocks their echoes send?

Rev. W. Pulling, from Lamartine.

Rock of ages! cleft for me!

Let me hide myself in thee!

Let the water and the blood

From thy wounded side which flowed,