There was a song I tried in vain to sing!
It seemed as though I ne'er should learn the ring
Of the sweet melody; though oft again
I sought, with tears, to sing that sweet refrain.
I longed to strike the chords in harmony.
And pour a song which should fall soothingly
On lonely, troubled hearts, and lull their fears
To rest. But all in vain! Hot, burning tears
Fell from my weary eyes, as, sorely vexed,
My disappointed heart at last confessed
My voice might never breathe that song of rest.
I heard of other voices, raising high
The same sweet song, that I so wearily
Had striven to learn for many a long, long year;
I listened eagerly, that on mine ear
Might fall the gracious echoes, sweet and low,
And fondly dreamed that I could quickly know
And imitate their tone; and gazed upon
The words till blinding tears did hide them one
By one from view: and yet, when I essayed
To strike the measure, oh! how soon I laid
My harp, in sad despair, upon the ground,
And felt that never, from its slumbering sound,
The song of patience I might sweetly wake!
To earthly masters I my harp did take,
Imploring them to teach me, but in vain;
Others might raise the full melodious strain,
Till angels bent with listening ears again;
My yearning voice forever hushed must be,
That blessed song might ne'er be sung by me.
0 weary soul! didst thou not see One near?
Did not his footsteps fall upon thine ear?
Did not his shadow, gently passing o'er,
In silent tenderness, thy tear-stained floor,
Raise thee from that dull, sorrowful despair?
He lowly bends, and takes thy harp from where
In sad impatience it was often flung,
And, tuning it with skilful fingers, sung
The song I craved to learn. Oh! dear, dear soul,
Did e'er such melody across thee roll?
It was a tone that never had its birth
In this poor, troubled, sin-marred, weary earth.
I turned to him, with streaming, earnest eyes,
Imploring him to bid my voice arise
In that rich harmony. He gently smiled,
And whispered softly, "Follow me, my child,
And thou shalt learn to sing the song below,
Which angels in my mansions ne'er may know."
I followed him, wiping my tears away,
Clasping my silent harp, but lo! the way
Straight in a flaming, angry fire he led,
Where red-forked tongues shot high above my head,
Devouring far and wide. Deep anguish filled
My soul. I would have fled, but through me thrilled
His loving voice, — "Sing on, my child, and raise
Thy harp's full melody, e'en in the blaze;
Those stubborn fingers will with soft power wake
Chords which this scorching glow can only make;
The blessed words will sink with deep-graved power,
And thy best teacher be this fiery hour!"
I raised my voice, though heartstrings nearly broke,
With scorched and trembling fingers, slowly woke
The song I longed to learn! and, 'midst the pain,
I felt I could, though feebly, raise the strain.
And now I pass along the world's highway,
Where restless, woe-worn hearts in darkness stray:
Oh that I might, though poor and weak my tone,
Comfort some lost one, wandering alone,
And sing my song of patience, till the light
Breaks on his darkly clouded, heavy night.
The day grows late, the shadows longer fall,
Soon will the voice from Zion's palace call,
And songs and harps will soon their echoes swell
Around the glassy_sea, where God doth dwell,
And songs of patience, which we sang below,
In tones of deep, glad love away shall flow!
