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Best Famous Unfathomed Poems

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Written by Thomas Gray | Create an image from this poem

Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard

 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening-care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle, and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre; But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village-Hampden that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.
Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the Gates of Mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Along the cool sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonoured dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate,— Haply some hoary-headed swain may say "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn; "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies would he rove; Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.
"One morn I missed him from the customed hill, Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he: "The next, with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne,— Approach and read, for thou can'st read, the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
" THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown: Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, And Melancholy marked him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Misery (all he had) a tear, He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God.


Written by Edgar Allan Poe | Create an image from this poem

Imitation

 A dark unfathomed tide 
Of interminable pride - 
A mystery, and a dream, 
Should my early life seem; 
I say that dream was fraught 
With a wild and waking thought 
Of beings that have been, 
Which my spirit hath not seen, 
Had I let them pass me by, 
With a dreaming eye! 
Let none of earth inherit 
That vision of my spirit; 
Those thoughts I would control, 
As a spell upon his soul: 
For that bright hope at last 
And that light time have past, 
And my worldly rest hath gone 
With a sigh as it passed on: 
I care not though it perish 
With a thought I then did cherish
Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

Sunshine

 I

Flat as a drum-head stretch the haggard snows;
The mighty skies are palisades of light;
The stars are blurred; the silence grows and grows;
Vaster and vaster vaults the icy night.
Here in my sleeping-bag I cower and pray: "Silence and night, have pity! stoop and slay.
" I have not slept for many, many days.
I close my eyes with weariness -- that's all.
I still have strength to feed the drift-wood blaze, That flickers weirdly on the icy wall.
I still have strength to pray: "God rest her soul, Here in the awful shadow of the Pole.
" There in the cabin's alcove low she lies, Still candles gleaming at her head and feet; All snow-drop white, ash-cold, with closed eyes, Lips smiling, hands at rest -- O God, how sweet! How all unutterably sweet she seems.
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Not dead, not dead indeed -- she dreams, she dreams.
II "Sunshine", I called her, and she brought, I vow, God's blessed sunshine to this life of mine.
I was a rover, of the breed who plough Life's furrow in a far-flung, lonely line; The wilderness my home, my fortune cast In a wild land of dearth, barbaric, vast.
When did I see her first? Long had I lain Groping my way to life through fevered gloom.
Sudden the cloud of darkness left my brain; A velvet bar of sunshine pierced the room, And in that mellow glory aureoled She stood, she stood, all golden in its gold.
Sunshine! O miracle! the earth grew glad; Radiant each blade of grass, each living thing.
What a huge strength, high hope, proud will I had! All the wide world with rapture seemed to ring.
Would she but wed me? YES: then fared we forth Into the vast, unvintageable North.
III In Muskrat Land the conies leap, The wavies linger in their flight; The jewelled, snakelike rivers creep; The sun, sad rogue, is out all night; The great wood bison paws the sand, In Muskrat Land, in Muskrat Land.
In Muskrat Land dim streams divide The tundras belted by the sky.
How sweet in slim canoe to glide, And dream, and let the world go by! Build gay camp-fires on greening strand! In Muskrat Land, in Muskrat Land.
IV And so we dreamed and drifted, she and I; And how she loved that free, unfathomed life! There in the peach-bloom of the midnight sky, The silence welded us, true man and wife.
Then North and North invincibly we pressed Beyond the Circle, to the world's white crest.
And on the wind-flailed Arctic waste we stayed, Dwelt with the Huskies by the Polar sea.
Fur had they, white fox, marten, mink to trade, And we had food-stuff, bacon, flour and tea.
So we made snug, chummed up with all the band: Sudden the Winter swooped on Husky Land.
V What was that ill so sinister and dread, Smiting the tribe with sickness to the bone? So that we waked one morn to find them fled; So that we stood and stared, alone, alone.
Bravely she smiled and looked into my eyes; Laughed at their troubled, stern, foreboding pain; Gaily she mocked the menace of the skies, Turned to our cheery cabin once again, Saying: "'Twill soon be over, dearest one, The long, long night: then O the sun, the sun!" VI God made a heart of gold, of gold, Shining and sweet and true; Gave it a home of fairest mould, Blest it, and called it -- You.
God gave the rose its grace of glow, And the lark its radiant glee; But, better than all, I know, I know God gave you, Heart, to me.
VII She was all sunshine in those dubious days; Our cabin beaconed with defiant light; We chattered by the friendly drift-wood blaze; Closer and closer cowered the hag-like night.
A wolf-howl would have been a welcome sound, And there was none in all that stricken land; Yet with such silence, darkness, death around, Learned we to love as few can understand.
Spirit with spirit fused, and soul with soul, There in the sullen shadow of the Pole.
VIII What was that haunting horror of the night? Brave was she; buoyant, full of sunny cheer.
Why was her face so small, so strangely white? Then did I turn from her, heart-sick with fear; Sought in my agony the outcast snows; Prayed in my pain to that insensate sky; Grovelled and sobbed and cursed, and then arose: "Sunshine! O heart of gold! to die! to die!" IX She died on Christmas day -- it seems so sad That one you love should die on Christmas day.
Head-bowed I knelt by her; O God! I had No tears to shed, no moan, no prayer to pray.
I heard her whisper: "Call me, will you, dear? They say Death parts, but I won't go away.
I will be with you in the cabin here; Oh I will plead with God to let me stay! Stay till the Night is gone, till Spring is nigh, Till sunshine comes .
.
.
be brave .
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I'm tired .
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good-bye.
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" X For weeks, for months I have not seen the sun; The minatory dawns are leprous pale; The felon days malinger one by one; How like a dream Life is! how vain! how stale! I, too, am faint; that vampire-like disease Has fallen on me; weak and cold am I, Hugging a tiny fire in fear I freeze: The cabin must be cold, and so I try To bear the frost, the frost that fights decay, The frost that keeps her beautiful alway.
XI She lies within an icy vault; It glitters like a cave of salt.
All marble-pure and angel-sweet With candles at her head and feet, Under an ermine robe she lies.
I kiss her hands, I kiss her eyes: "Come back, come back, O Love, I pray, Into this house, this house of clay! Answer my kisses soft and warm; Nestle again within my arm.
Come! for I know that you are near; Open your eyes and look, my dear.
Just for a moment break the mesh; Back from the spirit leap to flesh.
Weary I wait; the night is black; Love of my life, come back, come back!" XII Last night maybe I was a little mad, For as I prayed despairful by her side, Such a strange, antic visioning I had: Lo! it did seem her eyes were open wide.
Surely I must have dreamed! I stared once more.
.
.
.
No, 'twas a candle's trick, a shadow cast.
There were her lashes locking as before.
(Oh, but it filled me with a joy so vast!) No, 'twas a freak, a fancy of the brain, (Oh, but to-night I'll try again, again!) XIII It was no dream; now do I know that Love Leapt from the starry battlements of Death; For in my vigil as I bent above, Calling her name with eager, burning breath, Sudden there came a change: again I saw The radiance of the rose-leaf stain her cheek; Rivers of rapture thrilled in sunny thaw; Cleft were her coral lips as if to speak; Curved were her tender arms as if to cling; Open the flower-like eyes of lucent blue, Looking at me with love so pitying That I could fancy Heaven shining through.
"Sunshine," I faltered, "stay with me, oh, stay!" Yet ere I finished, in a moment's flight, There in her angel purity she lay -- Ah! but I know she'll come again to-night.
Even as radiant sword leaps from the sheath Soul from the body leaps--we call it Death.
XIV Even as this line I write, Do I know that she is near; Happy am I, every night Comes she back to bid me cheer; Kissing her, I hold her fast; Win her into life at last.
Did I dream that yesterday On yon mountain ridge a glow Soft as moonstone paled away, Leaving less forlorn the snow? Could it be the sun? Oh, fain Would I see the sun again! Oh, to see a coral dawn Gladden to a crocus glow! Day's a spectre dim and wan, Dancing on the furtive snow; Night's a cloud upon my brain: Oh, to see the sun again! You who find us in this place, Have you pity in your breast; Let us in our last embrace, Under earth sun-hallowed rest.
Night's a claw upon my brain: Oh, to see the sun again! XV The Sun! at last the Sun! I write these lines, Here on my knees, with feeble, fumbling hand.
Look! in yon mountain cleft a radiance shines, Gleam of a primrose -- see it thrill, expand, Grow glorious.
Dear God be praised! it streams Into the cabin in a gush of gold.
Look! there she stands, the angel of my dreams, All in the radiant shimmer aureoled; First as I saw her from my bed of pain; First as I loved her when the darkness passed.
Now do I know that Life is not in vain; Now do I know God cares, at last, at last! Light outlives dark, joy grief, and Love's the sum: Heart of my heart! Sunshine! I come .
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I come.
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Written by Lucy Maud Montgomery | Create an image from this poem

An Autumn Evening

 Dark hills against a hollow crocus sky
Scarfed with its crimson pennons, and below 
The dome of sunset long, hushed valleys lie
Cradling the twilight, where the lone winds blow 
And wake among the harps of leafless trees 
Fantastic runes and mournful melodies.
The chilly purple air is threaded through With silver from the rising moon afar, And from a gulf of clear, unfathomed blue In the southwest glimmers a great gold star Above the darkening druid glens of fir Where beckoning boughs and elfin voices stir.
And so I wander through the shadows still, And look and listen with a rapt delight, Pausing again and yet again at will To drink the elusive beauty of the night, Until my soul is filled, as some deep cup, That with divine enchantment is brimmed up.
Written by Robert Louis Stevenson | Create an image from this poem

Come My Beloved Hear From Me

 COME, my beloved, hear from me
Tales of the woods or open sea.
Let our aspiring fancy rise A wren's flight higher toward the skies; Or far from cities, brown and bare, Play at the least in open air.
In all the tales men hear us tell Still let the unfathomed ocean swell, Or shallower forest sound abroad Below the lonely stars of God; In all, let something still be done, Still in a corner shine the sun, Slim-ankled maids be fleet of foot, Nor man disown the rural flute.
Still let the hero from the start In honest sweat and beats of heart Push on along the untrodden road For some inviolate abode.
Still, O beloved, let me hear The great bell beating far and near- The odd, unknown, enchanted gong That on the road hales men along, That from the mountain calls afar, That lures a vessel from a star, And with a still, aerial sound Makes all the earth enchanted ground.
Love, and the love of life and act Dance, live and sing through all our furrowed tract; Till the great God enamoured gives To him who reads, to him who lives, That rare and fair romantic strain That whoso hears must hear again.


Written by Isaac Watts | Create an image from this poem

Psalm 104

 The glory of God in creation and providence.
My soul, thy great Creator praise: When clothed in his celestial rays, He in full majesty appears, And, like a robe, his glory wears.
The heav'ns are for his curtains spread, The unfathomed deep he makes his bed.
Clouds are his chariot when he flies On winged storms across the skies.
Angels, whom his own breath inspires, His ministers, are flaming fires; And swift as thought their armies move To bear his vengeance or his love.
The world's foundations by his hand Are poised, and shall for ever stand; He binds the ocean in his chain, Lest it should drown the earth again.
When earth was covered with the flood, Which high above the mountains stood, He thundered, and the ocean fled, Confined to its appointed bed.
The swelling billows know their bound, And in their channels walk their round; Yet thence conveyed by secret veins, They spring on hills and drench the plains.
He bids the crystal fountains flow, And cheer the valleys as they go; Tame heifers there their thirst allay, And for the stream wild asses bray.
From pleasant trees which shade the brink, The lark and linnet light to drink Their songs the lark and linnet raise, And chide our silence in his praise.
PAUSE I.
God from his cloudy cistern pours On the parched earth enriching showers; The grove, the garden, and the field, A thousand joyful blessings yield.
He makes the grassy food arise, And gives the cattle large supplies With herbs for man of various power, To nourish nature or to dire.
What noble fruit the vines produce! The olive yields a shining juice; Our hearts are cheered with gen'rous wine, With inward joy our faces shine.
O bless his name, ye Britons, fed With nature's chief supporter, bread; While bread your vital strength imparts, Serve him with vigor in your hearts.
PAUSE II.
Behold, the stately cedar stands, Raised in the forest by his hands; Birds to the boughs for shelter fly, And build their nests secure on high.
To craggy hills ascends the goat, And at the airy mountain's foot The feebler creatures make their cell; He gives them wisdom where to dwell.
He sets the sun his circling race, Appoints the moon to change her face; And when thick darkness veils the day, Calls out wild beasts to hunt their prey.
Fierce lions lead their young abroad, And, roaring, ask their meat from God; But when the morning beams arise, The savage beast to covert flies.
Then man to daily labor goes; The night was made for his repose; Sleep is thy gift, that sweet relief From tiresome toil and wasting grief.
How strange thy works! how great thy skill! And every land thy riches fill: Thy wisdom round the world we see; This spacious earth is full of thee.
Nor less thy glories in the deep, Where fish in millions swim and creep With wondrous motions, swift or slow, Still wand'ring in the paths below.
There ships divide their wat'ry way, And flocks of scaly monsters play; There dwells the huge leviathan, And foams and sports in spite of man.
PAUSE III.
Vast are thy works, Almighty Lord; All nature rests upon thy word, And the whole race of creatures stands Waiting their portion from thy hands.
While each receives his diff'rent food, Their cheerful looks pronounce it good: Eagles and bears, and whales and worms, Rejoice and praise in diff'rent forms.
But when thy face is hid, they mourn, And, dying, to their dust return; Both man and beast their souls resign; Life, breath, and spirit, all is thine.
Yet thou canst breathe on dust again, And fill the world with beasts and men; A word of thy creating breath Repairs the wastes of time and death.
His works, the wonders of his might, Are honored with his own delight; How aweful are his glorious ways! The Lord is dreadful in his praise.
The earth stands trembling at thy stroke, And at thy touch the mountains smoke; Yet humble souls may see thy face, And tell their wants to sovereign grace.
In thee my hopes and wishes meet, And make my meditations sweet; Thy praises shall my breath employ, Till it expire in endless joy.
While haughty sinners die accursed, Their glory buried with their dust, I to my God, my heav'nly King, Immortal hallelujahs sing.
Written by Emile Verhaeren | Create an image from this poem

From LES HEURES CLAIRES

I


Oh, splendour of our joy and our delight,
Woven of gold amid the silken air!
See the dear house among its gables light,
And the green garden, and the orchard there!


Here is the bench with apple-trees o'er head
Whence the light spring is shed.
With touch of petals falling slow and soft;
Here branches luminous take flight aloft,
Hovering, like some bounteous presage, high
Against this landscape's clear and tender sky.


Here lie, like kisses from the lips dropt down
Of yon frail azur upon earth below,
Two simple, pure, blue pools, and like a crown
About their edge, chance flowers artless grow.


O splendour of our joy and of our ourselves!
Whose life doth feed, within this garden bright,
Upon the emblems of our own delight.


What are those forms that yonder slowly pass?
Our two glad souls are they,
That pastime take, and stray
Along the terraces and woodland grass?


Are these thy breasts, are these thine eyes, these two
Golden-bright flowers of harmonious hue?
These grasses, hanging like some plumage rare.
Bathed in the stream they ruffle by their touch.
Are they the strands of thy smooth, glossy hair?


No shelter e'er could match yon orchard white.
Or yonder house amid its gables light,
And garden, that so blest a sky controls,
Weaving the climate dear to both our souls.




VIII


As in the guileless, golden age, my heart
I gave thee, even like an ample flower
That opens in the dew's bright morning hour;
My lips have rested where the frail leaves part.


I plucked the flower—it came
From meadows whereon grow the flowers of flame:
Speak to it not—'tis best that we control
Words, since they needs are trivial 'twixt us two;
All words are hazardous, for it is through
The eyes that soul doth hearken unto soul.


That flower that is my heart, and where secure
My heart's avowal hides.
Simply confides
Unto thy lips that she is clear and pure.
Loyal and good—and that one's trust toward
A virgin love is like a child's in God.


Let wit and wisdom flower upon the height,
Along capricious paths of vanity;
And give we welcome to sincerity,
That holds between her fingers crystal-bright
Our two clear hearts: for what so beautiful
As a confession made from soul to soul.
When eve returns
And the white flame of countless diamonds burns.
Like myriads of silent eyes intent,
Th' unfathomed silence of the firmament.




XVII


That we may love each other through our eyes
Let us our glances lave, and make them clear,
Of all the thousand glances that they here
Have met, in this base world of servile lies.


The dawn is dressed in blossom and in dew,
And chequered too
With very tender light—it looks as though
Frail plumes of sun and silver, through the mist,
Glided across the garden to and fro,
And with a soft caress the mosses kissed.


Our wondrous ponds of blue
Tremble and wake with golden shimmerings;
Swift emerald flights beneath the trees dart through.
And now the light from hedge and path anew
Sweeps the damp dust, where yet the twilight clings.




XXI


In hours like these, when through our dream of bliss
So far from all things not ourselves we move,
What lustral blood, what baptism is this
That bathes our hearts, straining toward perfect love?


Our hands are clasped, and yet there is no prayer,
Our arms outstretched, and yet no cry is there;
Adoring something, what, we cannot say.
More pure than we are and more far away,
With spirit fervent and most guileless grown,
How we are mingled and dissolved in one;
Ah, how we live each other, in the unknown!


Oh, how absorbed and wholly lost before
The presence of those hours supreme one lies!
And how the soul would fain find other skies
To seek therein new gods it might adore;
Oh, marvellous and agonizing joy,
Audacious hope whereon the spirit hangs,
Of being one day
Once more the prey,
Beyond even death, of these deep, silent pangs.
Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

The Tramps

 Can you recall, dear comrade, when we tramped God's land together,
 And we sang the old, old Earth-song, for our youth was very sweet;
When we drank and fought and lusted, as we mocked at tie and tether,
 Along the road to Anywhere, the wide world at our feet --

Along the road to Anywhere, when each day had its story;
 When time was yet our vassal, and life's jest was still unstale;
When peace unfathomed filled our hearts as, bathed in amber glory,
 Along the road to Anywhere we watched the sunsets pale?

Alas! the road to Anywhere is pitfalled with disaster;
 There's hunger, want, and weariness, yet O we loved it so!
As on we tramped exultantly, and no man was our master,
 And no man guessed what dreams were ours, as, swinging heel and toe,
We tramped the road to Anywhere, the magic road to Anywhere,
The tragic road to Anywhere, such dear, dim years ago.
Written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Create an image from this poem

Progress

 Let there be many windows to your soul, 
That all the glory of the universe 
May beautify it.
Not the narrow pane Of one poor creed can catch the radiant rays That shine from countless sources.
Tear away The blinds of superstition; let the light Pour through fair windows broad as truth itself And high as God.
Why should the spirit peer Through some priest-curtained orifice, and grope Along dim corridors of doubt, when all The splendor from unfathomed seas of space Might bathe it with the golden waves of Love? Sweep up the debris of decaying faiths; Sweep down the cobwebs of worn-out beliefs, And throw your soul wide open to the light Of Reason and of knowledge.
Tune your ear To all the wordless music of the stars, And to the voice of Nature; and your heart Shall turn to truth and goodness as the plant Turns to the sun.
A thousand unseen hands Reach down to help you to their peace-crowned heights, And all the forces of the firmament Shall fortify your strength.
Be not afraid To thrust aside half-truths and grasp the whole.
Written by Isaac Watts | Create an image from this poem

Psalm XXXVI: High in the Heavns

 High in the heav'ns, eternal God,
Thy goodness in full glory shines;
Thy truth shall break through ev'ry cloud
That veils and darkens thy designs.
For ever firm thy justice stands, As mountains their foundations keep; Wise are the wonders of thy hands; Thy judgments are a mighty deep.
Thy providence is kind and large, Both man and beast thy bounty share; The whole creation is thy charge, But saints are thy peculiar care.
My God! how excellent thy grace, Whence all our hope and comfort springs ! The sons of Adam in distress Fly to the shadow of thy wings.
From the provisions of thy house We shall be fed with sweet repast; There mercy like a river flows, And brings salvation to our taste.
Life, like a fountain rich and free, Springs from the presence of the Lord; And in thy light our souls shall see The glories promised in thy word.
While men grow bold in wicked ways, And yet a God they own, My heart within me often says, "Their thoughts believe there's none.
" Their thoughts and ways at once declare, Whate'er their lips profess, God hath no wrath for them to fear, Nor will they seek his grace.
What strange self-flatt'ry blinds their eyes! But there's a hast'ning hour, When they shall see with sore surprise The terrors of thy power.
Thy justice shall maintain its throne, Though mountains melt away; Thy judgments are a world unknown, A deep, unfathomed sea.
Above the heav'ns created rounds, Thy mercies, Lord, extend; Thy truth outlives the narrow bounds Where time and nature end.
Safety to man thy goodness brings, Nor overlooks the beast; Beneath the shadow of thy wings Thy children choose to rest.
[From thee, when creature-streams run low, And mortal comforts die, Perpetual springs of life shall flow, And raise our pleasures high.
Though all created light decay, And death close up our eyes, Thy presence makes eternal day, Where clouds can never rise.
] When man grows bold in sin, My heart within me cries, "He hath no faith of God within, Nor fear before his eyes.
" [He walks awhile concealed In a self-flatt'ring dream, Till his dark crimes at once revealed Expose his hateful name.
] His heart is false and foul, His words are smooth and fair; Wisdom is banished from his soul, And leaves no goodness there.
He plots upon his bed New mischiefs to fulfil; He sets his heart, and hand, and head, To practice all that's ill.
But there's a dreadful God, Though men renounce his fear; His justice, hid behind the cloud, Shall one great day appear.
His truth transcends the sky, In heav'n his mercies dwell; Deep as the sea his judgments lie, His anger burns to hell.
How excellent his love, Whence all our safety springs ! O never let my soul remove From underneath his wings.

Book: Shattered Sighs