Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,
From strife and tumult far!
From scenes, where Satan wages still
His most successful war.
The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With pray'r and praise agree:
And seem, by thy sweet bounty made,
For those who follow thee.
There, if thy Spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode:
Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God.
There, like the nightingale she pours
Her solitary lays;
Nor asks a witness of her song,
Nor thirsts for human praise.
Author and guardian of my life;
Sweet source of light divine;
And (all harmonious names in one)
My Savior, Thou art mine!
What thanks I owe Thee, and what love,
A boundless, endless store;
Shall echo thro' the realms above,
When time shall be no more.
_London, Published by R. Miller, Old Fish Street, Doctors Commons._
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N^o. 9.
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