'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind,
And doubles all its fires.
Flames of encircling Love invest,
And pierce it sweetly through;
'Tis fill'd with sacred joy, yet press'd
With sacred sorrow too.
Ah Love! my heart is in the right—
Amidst a thousand woes,
To thee, its ever new delight,
And all its peace, it owes.
Fresh causes of distress occur,
Where'er I look or move;
The comforts, I to all prefer,
Are solitude and love.
Nor exile I, nor prison fear;
Love makes my courage great;
I find a Saviour ev'ry where,
His grace, in ev'ry state.
Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep,
Exclude his quick'ning beams;
There I can sit, and sing, and weep,
And dwell on heav'nly themes.
There, sorrow, for his sake, is found
A joy beyond compare;
There, no presumptuous thoughts abound,
No pride can enter there.
