On Redeeming Love. Written at Midnight, 1801.

While solemn silence reigns around,

And sleep forsakes mine eyes;

O! may my heart to thee, my God,

With gratitude arise!

The bounties of thy hand I feel,

Around my path they flow;

And ev’ry moment as it comes,

Fresh blessings doth bestow.

But if these mercies wondrous are,

And claim my grateful lays,

How rich – how greater far are those

Redeeming love displays!

Redeeming love! – how dear the sound!

From hence my comforts flow;

This is the spring of all the joys

My soul can ever know.

Glory to God in heights above,

And gentle peace on earth;

These sweet, these bless’d angelic strains,

Proclaim’d the Saviour’s birth!

Enslav’d by vice, in deepest gloom

We wretched captives lay;

The Saviour comes – and light divine

Sheds a refulgent ray!

The Saviour comes – let distant winds

Convey the joyful sound;

The Saviour comes – to dwell on earth,

And blessings flow around!

The prison gates he opens wide;

He sets the pris’ners free;

From dangerous deep he drew our souls

To Life and Liberty!

Glory to thee – thou great Supreme!

For this best gift of love;

Since thou thy best beloved sent,

From blissful realms above.

To do thy will, my God, he came,

Aside his glories laid;

And in the humble form of man,

Infinite love display’d!

With love that knew no bounds he came,

A sinful world to save;

And his own precious life bestow’d

To raise us from the grave.

No thorns nor briars now perplex

The humble Christian’s road;

One clear and shining path is left,

The path which Jesus trod.

May I his sacred footsteps trace,

As I march on my way!

While those bless’d marks I keep in view,

My feet shall never stray.

Yet, Lord! I weak and feeble am;

Too oft this erring heart,

Though bless’d with ev’ry divine,

Still from thy ways depart.

Too oft the world, and all its cares,

Obtrude upon my mind;

And I forget, a pilgrim here,

’Tis not my home design’d.

Yes – my Redeemer’s gone on high,

Bright mansions to prepare,

For those who his blest precepts keep,

And humble followers are.

To fountains there, of sweet delight,

The Lamb himself shall lead;

While living streams of purest bliss,

Shall from the Throne proceed!

There let me raise my every thought,

And look to joys above,

Where I shall sing, in endless strains,

My God – my Saviour’s love!

Text: Poems, on Moral and Religious Subjects. London: Printed by C. Stower. Hatton Garden; sold by H. D. Symonds 20, Paternoster-Row; Mrs. Gurney, Holborn; E. Vidler, 349, Strand; Hanwell and Parker, Oxford, and Bacon, Norwich, 1803), pp. 39-43.