Thy bright, swift pinions, Dawn, had I,

To distant realms my soul would fly;

And view eternal mansions there,

Where my lost friends and Saviour are.

O were to me that chariot given,

Which bore the man of God to heaven:

I would this earthly tent resign,

And every mortal joy of mine.

By day or night I should not tire,

Had I pillared cloud and fire:

I’d sing the dreary desert through,

And joyful enter Jordan too.

Or could I Jacob’s ladder climb,

I’d leave afar the clouds of time;

Nor rest until my favoured ears

Caught angel-strains above the spheres.

My soul, it is thy Peniel here,

Repeat good Jacob’s earnest prayer:

Perchance, before the morning wake,

The day divine may o’er thee break.