Hymn: Awake, our lute, the child to sing
- Title: Awake, our lute, the child to sing
- First Line: Awake, our lute, the child to sing
- 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
Awake, our lute, the child to sing Of bride unwedded, holy maid; True Son of the Eternal King, Ere earth's foundations yet were laid. Ineffable Thy counsels, Lord, Father of all, by which was born The Christ! a virgin's throes afford The Light of Life to world forlorn! A Man! and yet of ages gone, And of all ages yet to come, Throughout eternity, the One Upholder, Perfecter, and Sum. Thyself, O Christ, art Fount of Light, Light of the Father's Light, bright Ray! Dark matter thou didst burst; and night To holy souls Thou turn'st to day. Yea! Founder of the world Thou art, And moulder of each starry sphere: To earth her spurs Thou dost impart; While men hail Thee their Saviour dear. For Thee his chariot Titan drives, The quenchless fount of morning light. From Thee the bull-faced moon derives Her power to loose the gloom of night. By Thee the year with fruit is crowned: By Thee the flocks and herds are fed: Productive Thou dost make the ground; And to the poor Thou givest bread. For Thou from Thine o'erflowing store Of grace ineffable and love, O'er surface of all worlds dost pour The fertile sunshine from above. And from Thy bosom forth did spring To life both light, and mind, and soul: O pity then Thine own offspring Imprisoned under hard control, By mortal limbs, by flesh and blood, Coerced, and measures stern of fate: O save Thine own, Thou great and good, Nor let sick mind sick body hate! Persuasion to my words nod Thou, And to my deeds such honest fame, That truth I never disavow, Nor Sparta nor Cyrene shame! But may my soul, unbowed by grief, Draw all her nourishment from Thee, Stretching both eyes, in calm relief, Up to Thy light, from sorrow free! That, cleansed from dregs of worldly soil, I may by straight course upward mount, And 'scaping from earth's care and toil, Be mingled with the soul's own fount! Life such of pure content and praise, Do Thou to Thy poor harper grant, While still to Thee the hymn I raise, And glory to the Father chant, And Spirit, mid-enthroned compeer, The Parent Root and Branch between! Be such on earth my bright career, Nor sin nor sorrow intervene; Until, within the courts above, The travail of my soul shall cease, Still singing hymns of heavenly love In glory and in perfect peace. Thee, Thee, the Fount of love, we bless, O Father, rock and strength of Thine; And Thee alike, His form express, And seal, all beauty, Son Divine; And Holy Breath, of both the crown, Whose quickening gifts like billows roll: Thou with the Father, send Him down To cheer and fertilize my soul!