Hymn 402. The Joys of Heaven

         Come Lord, and warm each languid heart,

                     Inspire each lifeless tongue;

         And let the joys of Heaven impart

                     Their influence to our song.

         Then to the shining seats of bless 

                     The wings of faith shall soar,

         And all the charms of Paradise

                     Our raptur’d thoughts explore.

         Pleasures, unsullied, flourish there,

                     Beyond the reach of time:

         Not blooming Eden smil’d so far,

                     In all her flowery prime.

         No sun shall gild the blest abode

                     With his meridian ray,

         But the more radiant throne of God 

                     Diffuse eternal day.

         Sorrow, and pain, and every care,

                     And discord there shall cease,

         And perfect joy and love sincere

                     Adorn the realms of peace.                                            

         The soul, from sin for ever free,

                     Shall mourn its power no more,

         But cloath’d in spotless purity,

                     Redeeming love adore.

         There on a throne, (how dazling bright!)                                

                     The exalted Saviour shines;

         And beams ineffable delight

                     On all the heavenly minds.

         There shall the followers of the Lamb

                     Join in immortal songs;                                                 

         And endless honours to his name

                     Employ their tuneful tongues.

         While sweet reflection calls to mind

                     The scenes of mortal care,

         When God, their God, for ever kind, 

                     Was present to their prayer;

         How will the wonders of his grace

                     In their full lustre shine?

         His wisdom, power, and faithfulness,

                     All glorious!  all divine!     

         The Saviour, dying, rising, crown’d,

                     Shall swell the lofty strains,

         Seraph and saint his praise resound,

                     Through all th’etherial plains.

         But oh! their transports, oh! their songs,

                     What mortal thought can paint?

         Transcendent glory awes our tongues,

                     And all our notes are faint.

         Lord, tune our hearts to praise and love,

                     Our feeble notes inspire;                                                

         Till in thy blissful courts above,

                     We join the heavenly choir.

Text: Timothy Whelan, gen. ed., Nonconformist Women Writers, 8 vols. (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2011), vol. 1, pp. 55-57 Collection of Hymns Adapted to Public Worship, no. 402 (stanzas 1-3, 5-8, 13); Poems, 1780, vol. 1, pp. 34-37; MS, Steele Collection, STE 3/1/1 no. 14, Angus Library, Regents Park College,  Oxford.