Hark! the Re­deem­er from on high
Sweetly invites His fa­vo­rites nigh;
From caves of dark­ness and of doubt,
He gent­ly speaks and calls us out:

“My dove, who hid­est in the rock,
Thine heart al­most with sor­row broke,
Lift up thy face, for­get thy fear,
And let thy voice de­light Mine ear.

Thy voice to Me sounds ev­er sweet.
My grac­es in thy coun­te­nance meet;
Tho’ the vain world thy face des­pise,
’Tis bright and come­ly in mine eyes.

Dear Lord, our thank­ful heart re­ceives
The hope Thine in­vi­ta­tion gives;
To Thee our joy­ful lips shall raise
The voice of pray­er and of praise.

I am my love’s, and He is mine;
Our hearts, our hopes, our pass­ions join;
Nor let a mo­tion, nor a word,
Nor thought arise, to grieve my Lord.

My soul to pas­tures fair He leads
Amongst the li­lies where He feeds;
Amongst the saints—whose robes are white
Washed in His blood—is His de­light.

Till day­break come and sha­dows flee,
Till sweet re­turn­ing dawn I see,
Thine eyes to me-ward oft­en turn,
Nor let my soul in dark­ness mourn.

Be like a hart on mount­ains green,
Leap ov­er hills of fear and sin;
Nor guilt, nor un­be­lief, di­vide
My love, my Sav­ior, from my side.