Angel Of The Lord
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ this unseen messenger
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ between me and her,
¦¦¦ brings love’s precious merchandise,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ the dew of sighs,
And the ¦¦¦¦¦ gentle thoughts ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Too fragile for the lips to tell,
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Who art thou, unseen messenger?
I think, O Angel of the Lord,
You make our hearts ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ sigh for love as deep as ours;
And seek ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
An Eden where the soul may live,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
From thee, O Angel of the Lord.
(Blackout of The Weaver of Souls by George William Russell)
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