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Oh, Teach Me To Love Thee. (Air.--Haydn.)
By Thomas Moore
Oh, teach me to love Thee, to feel what thou art,
Till, filled with the one sacred image, my heart
Shall all other passions disown;
Like some pure temple that shines apart,
Reserved for Thy worship alone.
In joy and in sorrow, thro' praise and thro' blame,
Thus still let me, living and dying the same,
In Thy service bloom and decay--
Like some lone altar whose votive flame
In holiness wasteth away.
Tho' born in this desert, and doomed by my birth
To pain and affliction, to darkness and dearth,
On Thee let my spirit rely--
Like some rude dial, that, fixt on earth,
Still looks for its light from the sky.
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