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 that new life when sin shall be no more.

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

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.

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