The Stennetts of England - Joseph Stennett - Hymn Poems

Wake my mind; awake my song

I

   Wake my mind; awake my song;
Awake my heart; awake my tongue;
Join with the grateful praising throng,
      In offerings to our common Lord.
   Wherever fleeting winds can blow,
Wherever swelling waves can flow,
Where beasts can rove, or plants can grow,
      All creatures praise his name with one accord.

II

   Whate'er the circling sun can spy
In earth below, in heaven on high;
Whate'er can run, creep, swim or fly;
      The glories of his name display.
   The humble vales and mountains steep,
Offer their herds and flocks of sheep,
Mines yield their ore, her fish the deep,
   Their thankful homage to their God to pay.

IIII

   Each spring that starts from rocks or hills,
And forms the little purling rills,
Or larger. channels largely fills,
      Murmurs, as if to frame a song;
   While every whisper of a breeze,
That waves the corn and fans the trees,
And louder storms on land and seas,
   Declare their maker's praise without a tongue.

V

   Sun, moon, and stars, with glories bright,
That rule by day, or rule by night,
Tho with unequal power and light,
      Praise him from pole to pole.
   Flowers in bright colours which they wear,
Bring incense, which perfumes the air;
While trees their fruits and blossoms bear,
   And praise without a voice, without a soul.

VI

   Fields gladly yield their golden crops,
Obsequious cedars bow their tops,
Clouds freely give their fertile drops,
      And their creator's bounty show.
   His thunders with their awful found
And flashes, blazing all around,
Proclaim his power on earth renown'd:
   But gentler mercy paints the smiling brow.

VII

   Each little bird an hymn can bring,
Thro' groves and plains can chirp and sing,
With quavering throat and hovering wing
      His maker's praises far and near.
   Sing then, my soul, who art design'd
For service of a nobler kind:
The breathings of a pious mind
   Are sweetest musick in th' Almighty's ear.

VIII

    The happy spirits that dwell above,
O how their thoughts and joys improve!
O how they sing! O how they love!
      O how their love their songs inspires!
   And is it not, my soul, thy blame,
And is it not, my soul, thy shame;
That still so languid is thy flame,
   Tho fed and cherish'd by so many fires?

IX

   That I may sing without controul,
To touch my lip, to touch my soul,
Lord, from the altar send a coal,
      On which my dear redeemer bled.
   The flame of so divine a love,
Too firm for life or death to move,
Will the best light and motive prove,
   To warm my heart, and to inform my head.

X

   So shall my thoughts, so shall my songs,
In concert with seraphic throngs,
Rehearse what praise to thee belongs,
      With highest love and purest joy:
   Till soaring far from mortal eye,
I quit this earth and pierce the sky
Then to thy radiant throne draw nigh,
   And all eternity in praise employ.

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