Then we shall see his face,
And never, never sin;
There, from the rivers of his
Drink endless pleasures in.
Yes, and before we rise
To that immortal state,
The thoughts of such amazing bliss,
Should constant joys create.
The hill of Zion yields
A thousand sacred sweets,
Before we reach the heavenly fields,
Or walk the golden streets.
Then let our songs abound,
And every tear be dry;
We're marching through Immanuel's ground,
To fairer worlds on high.
My gracious Lord, thy love must be
Abiding, faithful, full and free,
Such love alone could suit my case,
A sinner, ransomed by thy grace.
It must be free, for I have nought,
By which thy love could e'er be bought;
Empty I am, or filled with sin,
Defiled all o'er, without, within.
It must be full, my need to meet,
Sweeter than all the world calls sweet,
A measure press'd, and flowing o'er,
Beyond the worldling's boasted store.
It must be faithful, or I know
It had been wearied long ago;
No love, but faithful love like thine,
Could bear a wand'ring heart like mine.
It must abide each changing scene,
And be as it hath ever been,
Unsought, unchanging, full and free,
Such love could only dwell with thee.
And with thee, Lord, such love is found,
Refreshing all this barren ground;
If such our portion, well may we
Contented lose ourselves in thee.
WITH joy we meditate the grace
Of our High Priest above;
His heart is made of tenderness,
His chosen name is Love.
Touched with a sympathy within,
He knows our feeble frame;
He knows what sore temptations mean,
For he has felt the same.
But spotless, innocent, and pure,
The great Redeemer stood,
While Satan's fiery darts he bore,
And did resist to blood.
He, in the days of feeble flesh,
Poured out his cries and tears;
And in his measure feels afresh
What every member bears.
He'll never quench the smoking flax,
But raise it to a flame;
The bruised reed he never breaks,
Nor scorns the meanest name.
Then let our humble faith address,
His mercy and his power;
We shall obtain delivering grace
In the decisive hour.
JESUS shall reign where'er the sun
Does his successive journeys run;
His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,
Till moons shall wax and wane no more.
To him shall endless prayer be made, And praises throng to crown his head; His name like sweet perfume shall rise, With every morning sacrifice.
People and realms of every tongue,
Dwell on his love with sweetest song;
And infant voices shall proclaim
Their early blessings on his name.
Blessings abound where'er he reigns,
The prisoner leaps to lose his chains;
The weary find eternal rest;
And all the sons of want are blest.
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