Moreen (Timothy Swan)

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  • (Posted 2017-01-05)   CPDL #42511:       
Editor: Barry Johnston (submitted 2017-01-05).   Score information: Letter, 2 pages, 78 kB   Copyright: Public Domain
Edition notes: Oval note edition. Two more pairs of stanzas included, selected from Watts' poem. MusicXML source file is in compressed .mxl format.
  • (Posted 2017-01-05)   CPDL #42510:   
Editor: Barry Johnston (submitted 2017-01-05).   Score information: 7 x 10 inches (landscape), 2 pages, 80 kB   Copyright: Public Domain
Edition notes: Note shapes added (4-shape). Two more pairs of stanzas included, selected from Watts' poem.

General Information

Title: Moreen
First Line: Oft I am told the muse will prove
Composer: Timothy Swan
Lyricist: Isaac Watts

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB
Genre: Sacred   Meter: 88. 88 (L.M.)

Language: English
Instruments: A cappella

Published: 1801 in Swan's New England Harmony, pp. 25-26.

Description: Words by Isaac Watts, 1706, poem entitled Bewailing My Own Inconstancy, with ten stanzas. Swan used the fifth and sixth stanzas of Watts' poem in his composition.

External websites:

Original text and translations

English.png English text

1. I love the Lord; but, ah! how far
My thoughts from the dear object are!
This wanton heart, how wide it roves,
And fancy meets a thousand loves.

2. If my soul burn to see my God, .
I tread the courts of his abode;
But troops of rivals throng the place?
And tempt me off before his face.

3. Would I enjoy my Lord alone,
I bid my passions all be gone,
All but my love; and charge my will
To bar the door and guard it still.

4. But cares or trifles make or find
Still new avenues to the mind,
Till I with grief and wonder see
Huge crowds betwixt my Lord and me.

 

5. Oft I am told the muse will prove
A friend to piety and love;
Straight I begin some sacred song,
And take my Savior on my tongue.

6. Strangely I lose his lovely face,
To hold the empty sounds in chase;
At best the chimes divide my heart,
And the muse shares the larger part.

7. False confident! and falser breast!
Fickle, and fond of every guest :
Each airy image, as it flies,
Here finds admittance through my eyes.

8. This foolish heart can leave her God,
And shadows tempt her thoughts abroad:
How shall I fix this wandering mind,
Or throw my fetters on the wind?

 

9. Look gently down, Almighty Grace;
Prison me round in thine embrace;
Pity the soul that would be thine,
And let thy power my love confine.

10. Say, when shall that bright moment be,
That I shall live alone for thee;
My heart no foreign lords adore,
And the wild muse prove false no more?