Their artless notes were sweet,
   Grace ran through every line;
Their breasts with rapture swelled,
   Their looks were all divine: 
      Delight o’er all
         My senses stole,
      And heaven’s pure joy
         O’erwhelmed my soul.

When we had praised our God,
   And knelt around His throne,
The aged man began
   In deep and zealous tone,
      With hands upraised
         And heavenward eye,
      And prayed loud
         And fervently: 

He prayed that for His sake,
   Whose guiltless blood was shed
For guilty ruined man,
   We might that day be fed
      With that pure bread
         Which cheers the soul,
      And living stream,
         Where pleasures roll.

He prayed long for all,
   And for his daughter dear,
That she, preserved from ill,
   Might lead for many a year
      A spotless life
         When he’s no more;
      Then follow him
         To Canaan’s shore.

His faltering voice then fell,
   His tears were dropping fast,
And muttering praise to God
   For all His mercies past,
      He closed his prayer
         Midst heavenly joys,
      And tasted bliss
         Which never cloys.

In sweet discourse we spent
   The fast declining day: 
We spoke of Jesus’ love,
   And of that narrow way
      Which leads, through care
         And toil below,
      To streams where joys
         Eternal flow.

The wondrous plan of Grace,
   Adoring, we surveyed,
The birth of heavenly skill—­
   In Love Eternal laid—­
      Too deep for clear
         Angelic ken,
      And far beyond
         Dim-sighted men.

To tell you all that passed
   Would far exceed my power;
Suffice it, then, to say,
   Joy winged the passing hour,
      Till, ere we knew,
         The setting day
      Had clad the world
         In silver grey.

I kindly took my leave,
   And blessed the happy lot
Of those I left behind
   Lodged in their humble cot;
      And pitied some
         In palace walls,
      Where pride torments,
         And pleasure palls.

The silver moon now shed
   A flood of trembling light
On tower, and tree, and stream;
   The twinkling stars shone bright,
      Nor misty stain
         Nor cloud was seen
      O’er all the deep
         Celestial green.

Mild was the lovely night,
   Nor stirred a whispering breeze. 
Smooth was the glassy lake,
   And still the leafy trees;
      No sound in air
         Was heard afloat,
      Save Philomel’s
         Sweet warbling note.

My thoughts were on the wing,
   And back my fancy fled
To where contentment dwelt
   In the neat humble shed;
      To shining courts
         From thence it ran,
      Where restless pride
         Oppresses man.