Oh! sing unto my soul, my love,
That all-entrancing lay,
Such as the seraphim above
Are singing far away—
It comes as some familiar strain
Once heard in heaven, now heard again.
For sure—as olden sages tell—
We are not all of earth:
The soul, by some mysterious spell,
Has glimpses of its birth;
And memories of things divine
Thrill o’er me at that voice of thine.
They come as half-forgotten dreams
From that eternal land,
The sounds of its celestial streams,
The shores of silver sand,
The angel faces in the air—
Oh! sing, and waft my spirit there!