BELL-SONGS. No. 3."Sabbata pango."
Calmly dawns the golden day,
Over mountains pale and gray.
Man, forsake thy sleep and pray.
Come, come, come!
Over mountains pale and gray.
Man, forsake thy sleep and pray.
Come, come, come!
Swinging through the silent air,
Lo! the call itself is prayer.
Fence thy soul from sin and care.
Come, come, come!
Lo! the call itself is prayer.
Fence thy soul from sin and care.
Come, come, come!
Like a dream, serene and slow,
Through the dawn's aërial glow,
Hear the restful cadence flow:
Come, come, come!
Through the dawn's aërial glow,
Hear the restful cadence flow:
Come, come, come!
Think that in my pleading tongue,
Through the dewy branches swung,
Christ himself this word hath sung:
Come, come, come!
Through the dewy branches swung,
Christ himself this word hath sung:
Come, come, come!
