Heavenly Fa­ther, so­ve­reign Lord,
Ever faith­ful to Thy word,
Humbly we our seal set to,
Testify that Thou art true.

Lo! for us the wilds are glad,
All in cheer­ful green ar­rayed,
Opening sweets they all dis­close,
Bud and blos­som as the rose.

Hark! the wastes have found a voice,
Lonely de­serts now re­joice,
Gladsome hal­le­lu­jahs sing,
All around with prais­es ring.

Lo! abun­dant­ly they bloom,
Lebanon is hi­ther come,
Carmel’s stores the heav’ns dis­pense,
Sharon’s fer­tile ex­cel­lence.

See, these bar­ren souls of ours
Bloom, and put forth fruits and flow­ers—
Flowers of Ed­en, fruits of grace,
Peace, and joy, and right­eous­ness.

We be­hold (the ab­jects we)
Christ, the in­car­nate De­ity—
Christ, in whom Thy glo­ries shine,
Excellence of strength di­vine.

Ye that trem­ble at His frown,
He shall lift your hands cast down;
Christ, who all your weak­ness sees,
He shall prop your fe­eble knees.

Ye of fear­ful hearts, be strong;
Jesus will not tar­ry long;
Fear not, lest His truth should fail,
Jesus is un­chang­ea­ble.

God, your God, shall sure­ly come,
Quell your foes, and seal their doom,
He shall come and save you too;
We, O Lord, have found Thee true.

Blind we were, but now we see,
Deaf—we heark­en now to Thee,
Dumb—for Thee our tongues em­ploy,
Lame—and, lo! we leap for joy!

Faint we were, and parched with drought,
Water at Thy word gushed out;
Streams of grace our thirst re­fresh,
Starting from the wil­der­ness.

Still we gasp Thy grace to know,
Here for ev­er let it flow,
Make the thirs­ty land a pool,
Fix the Spi­rit in our soul.

Where the an­cient dra­gon lay,
Open for Thy­self a way;
There let ho­ly tem­pers rise,
All the fruits of pa­ra­dise.

Lead us in the way of peace,
In the path of right­eous­ness,
Never by the sin­ner trod,
Till he feels the cleans­ing blood.

There the sim­ple can­not stray;
Babes, though blind, may find their way—
Find, nor ever thence de­part,
Safe in low­li­ness of heart.

Far from fear, from dan­ger far,
No de­vour­ing beast is there;
There the hum­ble walk se­cure,
God hath made their foot­steps sure.

Jesu, migh­ty to re­deem,
Let our lot be cast with them:
Far from earth our souls re­move,
Ransomed by Thy dy­ing love.

Leave us not be­low to mourn;
Fain we would to Thee re­turn,
Crowned with right­eous­ness arise
Far above these ne­ther skies.

Come, and all our sor­rows chase,
Wipe the tears from ev­ery face;
Gladness let us now ob­tain,
Partners of Thy end­less reign.

Death, the lat­est foe, de­stroy;
Sorrow then shall yield to joy,
Gloomy grief shall flee away,
Swallowed up end­less day.