Alexander B. Grosart (1835–1899)

Heb. i. 14; St. Luke xv. 7.

LET God THE SPIRIT anoint my eyes,

A-flame are seen the azure skies,

With seraphim and cherubim—

Who noon-day’s utmost blaze bedim;

On wings of whiteness, lo! they fly

’Twixt our dark world and fields on high;

Heirs of salvation bringing home,

To gain the joyous welcome “Come.”

There is a glory on the grass

As tho’ angelic feet did pass;

There is a splendour ’midst the trees,

As he sees who the unseen sees;

Amongst the hollows of the hills,

A hush of awe as all else stills;

O God! Thy Spirit on me lies,

Lifting me up in ecstasies.

Ye holy angels ministrant,

Why is it now ye will not grant

E’en unto FAITH and HOPE and LOVE,

Your seal of silence to remove?

Speaking as once ye used to speak,

To weary hearts and like to break;

Glad tidings of glad souls set free,

That e’en in glory fresh joy see.

Where’er I see a little child,

I know ye there, ye undefil’d;

To guide, to guard, to bless, to keep,

With love that knows not how to sleep;

And wheresoe’er a sinner turns

And for the sinner’s Saviour burns;

But O to catch a whisper’d word,

That not in vain I serve the Lord.

O idle yearning thus to grieve!

Our part, as servants to believe;

To labour and still labour on

Until the world for Christ is won;

In faith, that unto us is given

Abundantly to people Heav’n;

That souls by day, by night repent,

And angels still their names present.