| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
The Book of Praise.
And many a lay
"Wears out the day In many a leafy grove.
Bird, flower, and tree
Seem to agree Their choicest gifts to bring;
But this poor heart
Bears not its part, In it there is no spring.
Dews fall apace,
The dews of grace, Upon this soul of sin
And love Divine
Delights to shine Upon the waste within :
Yet, year by year,
Fruits, flowers, appear, \ ,
And birds their praises sing ;
But this poor heart
Bears not its part, Its winter has no spring.
Lord, let Thy love,
Fresh from above, Soft as the south wind blow ;
Call forth its bloom,
Wake its perfume, And bid its spices flow !
And when Thy voice
Makes earth rejoice, And the hills laugh and sing,
Lord ! make this heart
To bear its part, And join the praise of spring !
John S.B. Monsell 1850. |
||