Thy bright, swift pinions, Dawn, had I,
To distant realms my soul would fly;
And view eternal mansions there,
Where my lost friends and Saviour are.

O were to me that chariot given,
Which bore the man of God to heaven:
I would this earthly tent resign,
And every mortal joy of mine.

By day or night I should not tire,
Had I pillared cloud and fire:
I’d sing the dreary desert through,
And joyful enter Jordan too.

Or could I Jacob’s ladder climb,
I’d leave afar the clouds of time;
Nor rest until my favoured ears
Caught angel-strains above the spheres.

My soul, it is thy Peniel here,
Repeat good Jacob’s earnest prayer:
Perchance, before the morning wake,
The day divine may o’er thee break.