Here hyacinths of heavenly blue, shook their rich tresses to the morn.

The Dove, on silver pinions, winged her peaceful way.

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, Uttered or unexpressed, The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast. Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye When none but God is near.

Baptize the nations! far and nigh,The triumphs of the cross recordThe name of Jesus glorify,Till every people call Him Lord.

When evening closes Nature's eye, The glow-worm lights her little spark To captivate her favorite fly And tempt the rover through the dark.

Blue thou art, intensely blue; Flower, whence came thy dazzling hue?

Songs of praise the angels sang, Heav'n with alleluias rang, when creation was begun, when God spoke and it was done.