CXCV. AFTER PREACHING TO THE STAFFORDSHIRE COLLIERS.
Lift up your eyes, ye sons of light,
Triumphant with my Lord, and me,
Look on the fields, and see them white,
Already white to harvest see.
Moved by the Spirit's softest wind,
The sinners to their Saviour turn,
Their hearts are all as one inclined,
Their hearts are bow'd as waving corn.
The reaper too receives his hire,
Fill'd with unutterable peace;
But farther still his hopes aspire,
And labour for eternal bliss.
Till God the full delight reveals,
And all the mighty joy is given,
The earnest in his heart he feels,
A glorious antepast of heaven.
The ripest fruit he gathers there,
The fulness of his vast reward,
Ordain'd the sower's joy to share,
And reign triumphant with his Lord.
Herein the faithful word is shown,
Its just accomplishments we see,
Another reaps what one hath sown;
The proverb is fulfill'd in me.
Sent forth I am to reap the field,
On which I had no pains bestow'd,
My Lord broke up the ground, and till'd,
And sow'd it with the seed of God.
Enter'd into His work I am;
Not unto me the praise is due,
Not unto me: I all disclaim,
God, only God, is kind, and true.
Who wrought the work shall have the praise,
Jesus hath labour'd for our good,
He purchased all the fallen race,
He water'd all the earth with blood.
His grace hath brought salvation nigh,
His grace hath roll'd away the stone:
And now He hears these sinners cry,
And deeply for redemption groan.
He hears, and He will soon redeem;
Then let us all our voices raise,
Worship, and strength ascribe to Him,
And might, and majesty, and praise.
Honour, and endless thanks, and love,
And glory be to Jesus given,
By saints below, and saints above,
By all in earth, and all in heaven.
