ICELANDIC MILLENNIAL HYMN^[61][9]

Matthías Jochumsson
7.6.7.6 D
O Lord, my soul's true Sun, to rest
Day's orb is sinking in the West;
As earth's light fades, upon my sight
Let dawn Thy everlasting light.
Come breathe on us a holy peace;
Bid every haunting fear to cease;
Our sin-sick spirits heal, and aid
Thy servants in Thine image made.
Dear Saviour, seek each wandering child,
Lost on the snow-waste bare and wild,
Until he taste, no more to roam,
The warm love of the Father's home.
Thou knowest, Lord, each secret need;
The hungry from Thy bounty feed;
Spare hearts too weak to conquer wrong,
And in Thy strength, O make them strong.
On all who stray with blinded sight
Mid heathen darkness day and night,
Uplift the shining of Thy face,
And show them Jesus' throne of grace.
O let Thy light with power imbue
Each withered soul to flower anew;
Thy spirit grant mid earthly strife,
Blest earnest of eternal life.

^[60][8]After the Icelandic of Matthías Jochumsson.

Matthías Jochumsson (1835-1920)
7.6.7.6 D
God of our land, our father's God, receive
The hymn we raise to Thine all-holy name.
Thy crown the ministering ages weave
Of suns celestial, galaxies of flame.
To Thee one day is as a thousand years,
A thousand years to Thee are but a day,
A flower of endless time, bedewed with tears,
Which glorifies its God, and fades away--
Our thousand years,
A flower of endless time, bedewed with tears,
Which glorifies its God and fades away.
God of our Iceland, now with burning heart
We offer Thee this sacrifice of praise;
From age to age Thou, Lord, our Father art;
Our holy anthem unto Thee we raise:
To Thee, as now are told our thousand years,
We sing, for other refuge have we none:
To Thee our voices lift, midst falling tears,
Great Shaper of our lot, whilst ages run.
Our thousand years!
Midst gloom of morning twilight, lo! our tears,
Lit with the glory of the rising sun.
God of our land, our father's God, behold!
We are but fading flower and withering grass;
If Thou be not our light and life, to mould,

After spring's transient gleam, we fade and pass.

Be, Lord, each morn a spring of endless life;
Our Captain midst the battle of the day;
At eve our heavenly resting place from strife,
The Leader of Thy people's pilgrim way.
Our thousand years!
Increase the nation! Wipe away all tears!
We join the Host of God towards the day!
Robert Scott, Paternoster Row, London, E.C.

^[62][9]After the Icelandic of Matthías Jochumsson.

Index of Pages of the Print Edition

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