Classic Poem

Help me, O God, to trust in thee,
Thou high and holy One!
And may my troubled spirit flee,
For rest, to Thee alone.

In Thee alone the soul can find
Secure and sweet repose;
And thou canst bid the desert mind
To blossom as the rose.

Let not this spirit, formed to rise
Where angels claim their birth,
Forsake its home beyond the skies,
And cling to barren earth.

The bird of passage knows the sign
That warns him to depart:
Shall I not heed the voice divine,
That whispers in my heart,—

“Up! plume thy wing, soar far away!
No longer idly roam!
Fly to the realms of endless day;
For this is not thy home.”

This still, small voice, O may I hear!
Ere conscience wakes within,
And whispers in my startled ear
The certain doom of sin.

Father! to thee my spirit cries!
Thy wandering child reclaim:
Speak! and my dying faith shall rise.
And wake a deathless flame.