Ye hearts with youth­ful vi­gor warm,
In smil­ing crowds draw near,
And turn from ev­ery mor­tal charm,
A Sav­ior’s voice to hear.

He, Lord of all the worlds on high,
Stoops to con­verse with you;
And lays His ra­di­ant glo­ries by,
Your friend­ship to pur­sue.

The soul that longs to see My face,
Is sure My love to gain;
And those that ear­ly seek My grace,
Shall ne­ver seek in vain.

What ob­ject, Lord, my soul should move,
If once com­pared with Thee?
What beau­ty should com­mand my love,
Like what in Christ I see?

Away, ye false de­lus­ive toys,
Vain temp­ters of the mind!
’Tis here I fix my last­ing choice,
And here true bliss I find.