Her minster-cells, dark glen and forest bower, And shivery leaf-sounds of the solitude, Thanks, blessings, love, for these Thy lavish boons, Thus do the tears that rise When the rough paths of life are meekly. trod, With veiled lids, with soul upraised to God,― Look precious in His eyes! HYMN FOR APRIL. THY mighty working, mighty God! Wakes all my powers; I look abroad, And can no longer rest; I, too, must sing when all things sing, And from my heart the praises ring The Highest loveth best. If Thou, in Thy great love to us, O'er this poor world of ours, Set round with golden towers! What thrilling joy, when on our sight Still laden with the unwearied hymn Who God's high praise repeat. Oh, were I there! Oh, that I now Before Thy throne, my God, could bow, And wave my heavenly palm! Then like the angels would I raise My voice, and sing Thy endless praise In many a sweet-toned psalm. |