Poems (Cary)/Hymn

For works with similar titles, see Hymn.
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HYMN.
Bow, angels, from your glorious state If e'er on earth you trod,And lead me through the golden gate Of prayer, unto my God.
I long to gather from the Word The meaning, full and clear,To build unto my gracious Lord A tabernacle here.
Against my face the tempests beat, The snows are falling chill,When shall I hear the voice so sweet, Commanding, Peace, be still!
The angels said, God giveth you His love—what more is ours?Even as the cisterns of the dew O'erflow upon the flowers,
His grace decends; and, as of old, He walks with men apart,Keeping the promise, as foretold, With all the pure in heart.
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