Hymn CCLXXVIII. Common Metre. The Pleasure of Religion

When true religion gains a place, And lives within the mind, The sensual life subdu'd by grace, And all the soul refin'd.

The desart blooms in living green, Where thorns and briars grew; The barren waste is fruitful seen, And all the prospect new.

The storms of rugged winter cease, The frozen powers revive; Spring blooms without, within is peace, All nature seems alive.

O happy christian, richly bless'd! What floods of pleasure roll! By God and man he stands confess'd In dignity of soul.

Substantial, pure, his every joy! His maker is his friend, The noblest business his employ, And happiness his end!

Ye sensual, worldly, proud and vain, Your airy good pursue; Let me religion's pleasure gain, I'll leave the world to you.