The world is growing old; Who would not be at rest and free Where love is never cold?

O Paradise! O Paradise! Who doth not crave for rest? Who would not seek the happy land Where they that love are blest?

Hark! Hark! my soul, angelic songs are swelling O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore; How sweet the truth those blessed strains are telling Of…

O majesty unspeakable and dread! Wert thou less mighty than Thou art, Thou wert, O Lord, too great for our belief, Too little for our heart.