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Nothing fair on earth I see

Author: Angelus; Catherine Winkworth Hymnal: Lyra Germanica #20 (1861) Meter: 7.7.7.7 Lyrics: Nothing fair on earth I see But I straightway think on Thee; Thou art fairest in mine eyes, Source in whom all beauty lies! When the golden sun forth goes, And the east before him glows, Quickly turns this heart of mine To Thy heavenly form divine. On Thy light I think at morn, With the earliest break of dawn; Ah, what glories lie in Thee, Light of all Eternity! When I watch the moon arise 'Mid Heaven's thousand golden eyes, Then I think, more glorious far Is the Maker of yon star. Or I cry in spring's sweet hours, When the fields are gay with flowers, As their varied hues I see, What must their Creator be! When along the brook I wander, Or beside the fountain ponder, Straight my thoughts take wing and mount Up to Thee, the purest fount! Sweetly sings the nightingale, Sweet the flute's soft plaintive tale, Sweeter than their richest tone, Is the name of Mary's Son. Sweetly all the air is stirred When the Echo's call is heard; But no sounds my heart rejoice Like to my Beloved's voice. Come then, fairest Lord, appear, Come, let me behold Thee here, I would see Thee face to face, On Thy proper light would gaze. Take away these veils that blind, Jesus, all my soul and mind; Henceforth ever let my heart See Thee truly as Thou art! Languages: English

Nothing fair on earth I see

Author: Scheffler Hymnal: Chorale Book for England, The #158 (1863) Lyrics: Nothing fair on earth I see But I straightway think on Thee; Thou art fairest in mine eyes, Source in whom all beauty lies! On Thy light I think at morn, With the earliest break of dawn; Think what glories lie in Thee, Light of all Eternity! When I watch the moon arise 'Mid heaven's thousand golden eyes, Then I think, more glorious far Is the Maker of yon star. Or I cry in spring's sweet hours, When the fields are gay with flowers, As their varied hues I see,-- What must their Creator be! When I wander by the stream, Or beside the fountain dream, Straight my thoughts take wing and mount Up to Thee, the purest Fount. Sweetly all the air is stirr'd When the Echo's call is heard; But no sounds my heart rejoice Like to my Beloved's voice. Take away then what could blind Unto Thee my soul and mind; Henceforth ever let my heart See Thee, Saviour, as Thou art! Languages: English