Hymn: O! 'Tis no theme of common things
- Title: O! 'Tis no theme of common things
- First Line: O! 'Tis no theme of common things
- Hymnal: Songs and Hymns of the Earliest Greek Christian Poets
- Denomination:
- Publisher: Christian Classics Ethereal Library
- Publication Date: 1876
Author(s)
- Author Name: Allen W. Chatfield
- Born: 1808
- Died: 1896
- Gender: M
- Author Name: Synesius of Cyrene
- Born: 370
- Died: 414
- Gender: M
Full Text
O! 'Tis no theme of common things That wakes my ivory-fastened strings! To Thee, in solemn Dorian strain, I lift my heart and voice amain, O blessèd, O Immortal One, The holy Virgin's glorious Son! But, O great King, save Thou my life From cares and woes and worldly strife, That from calamity all free Both night and day I may praise Thee. And to my mind mayst Thou convey From mind's own fount, a clear bright ray. Unto my youth mayst Thou impart Soundness of limbs and manly heart: And may my deeds reflect Thy light In honour, truth, and glory bright. And on the ripeness of mine age Mayst Thou the wisdom of the sage Bestow, with health, the blessed mead Of harvest rich from well-sown seed. And on that darling son of mine May Thy preserving mercy shine, Whom, when just passing gate of death, Thou didst restore to vital breath. O Lord of life, 'twas Thou didst wrench From Death's firm grasp, his prey, and quench My burning grief in floods of joy; For Thou didst give me back my boy; And tears, O Father, Thou didst dry, In answer to Thy suppliant's cry! May son and daughter, much loved pair, Thy kind protection ever share, And all my house, in happy calm, Be sheltered by Thine hand from harm! And, O my Saviour King, bless Thou The partner of my wedded vow; From sickness and from sorrow free, Faithful, one-minded, may she be, Preserved by Thee from thought of sin, All bright without, all pure within! Untouched by roving passions' tide, My honoured wife, my love, my pride! Loose Thou my soul from baneful chains Of worldly life, its cares and pains, And floods of dismal grief and woe, Which overwhelm this earth below. O! thus prepared may I be found With holy worshippers around To lead the choir, and chants to raise To Thy all-glorious Father's praise; And to Thy majesty, great King, Loud hymns again I hope to sing; Again in voice of praise Thy name To bless, Thy honours to proclaim; May be, my harp I shall again Tune all-unhurt to highest strain.