Your harps, ye trembling saints,Down from the willows take;Loud to the praise of love divineBid every string awake.
Though in a foreign landWe are not far from home,And nearer to our house aboveWe every moment come.
His grace will to the endStronger and brighter shine;Nor present things nor things to comeShall quench the spark divine.
When we in darkness walk,Nor feel the heavenly flame,Then is the time to trust our God,And rest upon His Name.
Soon shall our doubts and fearsSubside at His control;His lovingkindness shall break throughThe midnight of the soul.
Blest is the man, O Lord!That stays himself on Thee;Who wait for Thy salvation, Lord!Shall thy salvation see.
Creator of the world, to TheeAnd endless rest of joy belongs;And heavenly choirs are ever freeTo sing on high their festal songs.
But we are fallen creatures here,Where pain and sorrow daily come;And how can we in exile drearSing out, as they, sweet songs of Home?
O Father, who dost promise stillThat they who mourn shall blessèd be,Grant us to weep for deeds of illThat banish us so long from Thee.
But weeping, grant us faith to restIn hope upon Thy loving care;Till Thou restore us, with the blest,Their songs of praise in Heav’n to share.
To Father, Son and Holy Ghost,The God Whom Heav’n and earth adore,From men and from the angel hostBe praise and glory evermore.
I love Thy kingdom, Lord,The house of Thine abode,The church our blessed Redeemer savedWith His own precious blood.
I love Thy church, O God.Her walls before Thee stand,Dear as the apple of Thine eye,And written on Thy hand.
If e’er to bless Thy sonsMy voice or hands deny,These hands let useful skills forsake,This voice in silence die.
Should I with scoffers joinHer altars to abuse?No! Better far my tongue were dumb,My hand its skill should lose.
For her my tears shall fallFor her my prayers ascend,To her my cares and toils be givenTill toils and cares shall end.
Beyond my highest joyI prize her heavenly ways,Her sweet communion, solemn vows,Her hymns of love and praise.
Jesus, Thou Friend divine,Our Savior and our King,Thy hand from every snare and foeShall great deliverance bring.
Sure as Thy truth shall last,To Zion shall be givenThe brightest glories earth can yieldAnd brighter bliss of Heaven.
Far from my heavenly home,Far from my Father’s breast,Fainting I cry, blest Spirit, comeAnd speed me to my rest.
Upon the willows longMy harp has silent hung:How should I sing a cheerful songTill Thou inspire my tongue?
My spirit homeward turnsAnd fain would thither flee;My heart, O Zion, droops and yearns,When I remember thee.
To thee, to thee I press,A dark and toilsome road;When shall I pass the wilderness,And reach the saint’s abode?
God of my life, be near;On Thee my hopes I cast:O guide me through the desert here,And bring me home at last.