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WINTER has a joy for me,
While the Saviour's charms I read, Lowly, meek, from blemish free,
In the snow-drop's pensive head. Spring returns, and brings along
Life-invigorating suns :
Seems to speak his dying groans ! Summer has a thousand charms,
All expressive of his worth ; 'Tis his sun that lights and warms,
His the air that cools the earth. What has Autumn left to say
Nothing of a Saviour's grace? Yes, the beams of milder day,
Tell me of his smiling face. Light appears with early dawn,
While the sun makes haste to rise : See his bleeding beauties dawn
On the blushes of the skies.
Ev'ning, with a silent pace,
Slowly moving in the west, Shows an emblem of his grace,
Points to an eternal rest.
To Jesus, the crown of my hope, My soul is in haste to be gone: O bear me, ye cherubim, up, And waft me away to his throne. My Saviour, whom absent, I love; Whom, not having seen, I adore; Whose name is exalted above All glory, dominion, and pow'r: Dissolve thou these bonds, that detain My soul from her portion in thee; Ah! strike off this adamant chain, And make me eternally free. When that happy era begins, When array'd in thy glories I shine, Nor grieve any more, by my sins, The bosom on which I recline. O then shall the veil be remov'd, And round me thy brightness be pour'd: I shall meet him whom absent I lov'd, I shall see whom unseen I ador'd. And then, never more shall the fears, The trials, temptations, and woes, Which darken this valley of tears, Intrude on my blissful repose.
Or, if yet remember'd above,
Thus the strokes which, from sin and from pain,
He who sits from day to day,
But the monitory strain,
Death and judgment, heaven and hell,
O Child of sorrow, be it thine to know
When one who holds communion with the skies,
Oh! for a closer walk with God,
A calm and heav'nly frame; A light, to shine upon the road
That leads me to the Lamb! Where is the blessedness I knew
When first I saw the Lord ? Where is the soul-refreshing view
Of Jesus, and his word ? What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd !
How sweet their mem'ry still ! But they have left an aching void
The world can never fill.
Return, O holy Dove, return,
Sweet messenger of rest; I hate the sins that made thee mourn,
And drove thee from my breast.
Whate'er that idol be,
And worship only thee.
Calm and serene my frame :
That leads me to the Lamb.