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Treasury of Sacred Song
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CLXXXIV

SIGHS

Sighs--whether swift to Heaven they rise

As morning gilds the skies--

Or GOD, by omnipresent ear,

When they are sigh'd, is near--

Since GOD vouchsafes what I desire,

'Twere fruitless to inquire.

In Heaven accounts of sighs are kept,

Of every tear that's wept;

Saints feel the blessing back they bring,

Swift as angelic wing:

The humble what they beg obtain,--

They never sigh in vain.

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