O for the warmth of other days

O for the warmth of other days,
The fervour and the fire
That breathed through every song of praise,
And kindled each desire!
That gave that depth of holy love
To the still voice of prayer,
When first it wing'd its way above
To plead a Saviour there!

O! for that love, — so deep, so true, —
That first young love of heav'n,
That fill'd this soul when first it knew
Its sins were all forgiv'n!
When first it felt the saving power
Of Christ's atoning blood,
And in that hope-reviving hour
Gave itself up to God!

But colder now, — more careless grown —
This heart seems hard or dead,
The love once felt is now unknown,
The faith once fervent — fled!
While even He whose dawning ray
Of love such comfort brought,
'Mid blessings of a perfect day
Is now almost forgot.

Time was when prayer was a delight,
And precious was the word,
To muse therein both day and night,
And commune with the Lord!
But now a privilege no more,
'Tis duty only moves!
Because I fear Him I adore, —
And not because He loves!

O! for the warmth of other days! —
And yet how vain must be
Such wishes, Lord, unless my ways
With Thy commands agree!
For love must die, and joy must cease
When man forgets his God,
And paths of pleasantness and peace
The careless never trod.

Lord, make this heart more purely Thine,
And such fond love supply
'Mid feeling's premature decline
That faith may never die!
So shall each careless, cold desire
Once more devoutly burn,
And all the fervour and the fire
Of Heav'n's first love return.