Away With Sorrow's Sigh
On The Nativity: At Midnight.
I will not rest until the righteousness
thereof go forth as brightness,
and the salvation thereof as a lamp that burneth. – Isaiah lxii.
Translation: Isaac Williams, 1839
Meter: 6 6 6 6 12
Source: Isaac Williams, Hymns Translated from the Parisian Breviary (London: J.G.F. & J. Rivington, 1839), pp. 53-55.
Away with sorrow's sigh,
Our prayers are heard on high,
And through Heav'n's crystal door,
On this our earthly floor
Comes meek-eyed Peace to walk with poor mortality.
In dead of night profound
There breaks a seraph sound
Of never-ending morn,—
The Lord of glory born
Within a holy grot on this our sullen ground.
Now with that shepherd crowd,
If it might be allow'd,
We fain would enter there
With awful hastening fear,
And kiss that cradle chaste in reverend worship bow'd.
O sight of strange surprise,
That fills our gazing eyes,
A manger coldly strew'd,
And swaddling bands so rude,
A leaning mother poor, and child that helpless lies.
Art Thou, O wondrous sight,
Of lights the very Light,
Who holdest in Thy hand
The sky and sea and land,
Who than the glorious Heavens art more exceeding bright.'
Tis so;—faith darts before,
And through the cloud drawn o'er,
She sees the God of all,
Where Angels prostrate fall,
Adoring tremble still, and trembling, still adore.
No thunders round Thee break,
Yet doth Thy silence speak
From that Thy Teacher's seat
To us around Thy feet,
To shun what flesh desires, what flesh abhors to seek.
Within us, Babe Divine,
Be born, and make us Thine;
Within our souls reveal
Thy love and power to heal,
Be born, and make our hearts Thy cradle and Thy shrine.
Also found in The Book of Christmas Hymns (London: T. Nelson and Sons, 1868), pp. 49-51.
Also found in Roundell Palmer, ed., The Book of Praise. Boston: Sever, Francis, & Co., 1870, # XXX, pp. 34-35.
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