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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.
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