By Thomas Frean, Esq.
Awaken, sweet minstrels, awaken again
The notes of that holy and heart-melting strain,
My spirit is longing to hear you once more
Sing those songs which the Prophets and Priests sung before.
And again let the incense of prayer ascend,
From a virgin's pure lips to that Father and Friend,
Who by her poor Nation hath hitherto stood,
In trials and troubles, in flame and in flood.
Let the Parents again hear their child with delight,
Their Creator adore, his commandments recite,
While the teachers those lessons of wisdom instil,
That correct the affections and govern the will.
And Israel, poor Israel! how cold must he be,
Who feels not his sympathies wakened for thee,
When he thinks on the glory that circled thy brow,
And sees only sackcloth and ashes there now.
And still though afflicted and burthened with wo,
As thy Fathers have walked, even still thou dost go,
Like a river that holds its bright course through the deep,
While tempests and storms above it do sweep.
O may the good seed which is here freely sown,
Be watered by Him in whose name it is strown,
And a bountiful harvest hereafter reward
The labours of those who have toiled for the Lord.
And children of Israel, forget not your God,
Whenever you're severed or scattered abroad,
And on dreary Zahara, or fair Galilee,
With the love of a Parent he'll watch over thee.
Columbia, S. C.
