Felicity Above.
I
No, 'tis in vain to seek for bliss;
For bliss can ne'er be found
Till we arrive where Jesus is,
And tread on heav'nly ground.
II
There's nothing round these painted skies,
Or round this dusty clod;
Nothing, my soul, that's worth thy joys,
Or lovely as thy God.
III
'Tis heav'n on earth to taste his love,
To feel his quick'ning grace;
And all the heav'n I hope above
Is but to see his face.
IV
Why move my years in slow delay?
O God of ages! why?
Let the spheres cleave, and mark my way
To the superior sky.
V
Dear sov'reign, break these vital strings
That bind me to my clay;
Take me, Uriel, on thy wings,
And stretch and soar away.
