Forsaken, yet hoping.
I
Happy the hours, the golden days,
When I could call my Jesus mine,
And sit and view his smiling face,
And melt in pleasures all divine.
II
Near to my heart, within my arms
He lay, till sin defil'd my breast,
Till broken vows, and earthly charms,
Tir'd and provok'd my heav'nly guest.
III
And now he's gone, O mighty woe!
Gone from my soul, and hides his love!
Curse on you, sins, that griev'd him so,
Ye sins, that forc'd him to remove.
IV
Break, break, my heart; complain, my tongue;
Hither, my friends, your sorrows bring:
Angels, assist my doleful song,
If you have e'er a mourning string.
V
But ah! your joys are ever high,
Ever his lovely face you see;
While my poor spirits pant and die,
And groan, for thee, my God, for thee.
VI
Yet let my hope look thro' my tears,
And spy afar his rolling throne;
His chariot thro' the cleaving spheres
Shall bring the bright Beloved down.
VII
Swift as a roe flies o'er the hills,
My soul springs out to meet him high,
Then the fair Conqueror turns his wheels,
And climbs the mansions of the sky.
VIII
There smiling joy for ever reigns,
No more the turtle leaves the dove;
Farewell to jealousies, and pains,
And all the ills of absent love.
