The Song of Angels Above

Earth has de­tained me pri­son­er long

And I’m grown wea­ry now:

My heart

my hand

my ear

my tongue

There’s no­thing here for you.

Tired in my thoughts

I stretch me down

And up­ward glance mine eyes;

Upward

my Fa­ther

to Thy throne

And to my na­tive skies.

There the dear Man

my Sav­ior

sits

The God

how bright He shines!

And scat­ters in­fi­nite de­lights

On all the hap­py minds.

Seraphs

with ele­vat­ed strains

Circle the throne around

And move and charm the star­ry plains

With an im­mor­tal sound.

Jesus the Lord their harps em­ploys

Jesus my love they sing:

Jesus

the name of both our joys

Sounds sweet from ev­ery string.

Hark

how be­yond the nar­row bounds

Of time and space they run

And speak

in most ma­jes­tic sounds

The God­head of the Son.

How on the Fa­ther’s breast He lay

The dar­ling of His soul

Infinite years be­fore the day

Or heav­ens be­gan to roll.

And now they sink the lof­ty tone

And gent­ler notes they play

And bring th’eter­nal God­head down

To dwell in hum­ble clay.

O sac­red beau­ties of the Man!

(The God re­sides with­in)

His flesh all pure

with­out a stain;

His soul with­out a sin.

Then

how He looked

and how He smiled

What won­drous things He said!

Sweet cher­ubs

stay

dwell here a while

And tell what Je­sus did.

At His com­mand the blind awake

And feel the glad­some rays:

He bids the dumb at­tempt to speak

They try their tongues in praise.

He shed a thou­sand bless­ings round

Where’er He turned His eye;

He spoke

and at the sov­er­eign sound

The hell­ish le­gions fly.

Thus

while

with un­am­bi­tious strife

Th’ethe­re­al min­strels rove

Through all the la­bors of His life

And won­ders of His love.

In the full choir a brok­en string

Groans with a strange sur­prise;

The rest in si­lence mourn their king

That bleeds

and loves

and dies.

Seraph and saint

with droop­ing wings

Cease their har­mo­ni­ous breath;

No bloom­ing trees

nor bab­bling springs

While Je­sus sleeps in death.

Then all at once to liv­ing strains

They sum­mon ev­ery chord

Break up the tomb

and burst His chains

And show their ris­ing Lord.

Around the flam­ing army throngs

To guard Him to the skies

With loud ho­san­nas on their tongues

And tri­umph in their eyes.

In aw­ful state the con­quer­ing God

Ascends His shin­ing throne

While tune­ful an­gels sound abroad

The vic­to­ries He has won.

Now let me rise

and join their song

And be an an­gel too;

My heart

my hand

my ear

my tongue

Here’s joy­ful work for you!

I would be­gin the mu­sic here

And so my soul should rise.

Oh for some heav’n­ly notes to bear

My spir­it to the skies!

There

ye that love my Sav­ior

sit

There I would fain have place

Amongst your thrones

or at your feet

So I might see His face.

I am con­fined to earth no more

But mount in haste ab­ove

To bless the God that I ad­ore

And sing the Man I love.