Soil not thy plumage, gentle dove,
With sublunary things,
Till in the fount of light and love
Thou shalt have bathed thy wings.

Shall nature from her couch arise
And rise for thee in vain?
While heaven, and earth, and seas, and skies,
Such types of truth contain?

See - where the sun of Righteousness
Unfolds the gates of day:
Go - meet Him in His glorious dress
And quaff the orient ray.

There, where ten thousand seraphs stand,
To crown the circling hours -
Soar thou - and from that blissful land
Bring down unfading flowers:

Some Rose of Sharon, dyed in blood,
Some spice of Gilead's balm,
Some lily washed in Calvary's flood,
Some branch of heavenly palm!

And let the drops of sparkling dew
From Shiloh's spring be shed,
To form a fragrance fresh and new,
A halo round thy head.

Spread thou thy plumes of faith and prayer
Nor fear to wend away,
And let a glow of heavenly air
Gild every earthly day.

~Brydges