HYMN XXVIII. Praise for the Hope of Glory

I SOJOURN in a Vale of Tears, Alas how can I sing! My Harp doth on the Willows hang, Distun'd in ev'ry String.

My Musick is a Captive's Chains; Harsh Sounds my Ears do fill; How shall I sing sweet Zion's Song, On this side Zion's Hill?

Yet lo! I hear the joyful sound, Surely I quickly come! Each Word much sweetness doth distil, Like a full Honey Comb.

And dost thou come my dearest Lord? And dost thou surely come? And dost thou surely quickly come? Methinks I am at Home.

Come then my dearest, dearest Lord, My sweetest, surest Friend; Come, for I loath these Kedar Tents; The fiery Chariot send.

What have I in this barren Land? My Jesus is not here; Mine Eyes will ne'er be blest until My Jesus doth appear.

My Jesus is gone up to Heav'n To get a Place for me; For 'tis his Will, that where he is There should his Servants be.

Canaan I view from Pisgah's top, Of Canaan's Grapes I taste: My Lord, who sends unto me here, Will send for me at last.

I have a God that changeth not, Why should I be perplex't? My God that owns me in this World Will own me in the next.

My dearest Friends they dwell above, Them will I go to see; And all my Friends in Christ below Will soon come after me.