Archive for November, 2012

God My Only Happiness

November 17, 2012

God my only happiness. Psa. 73:25

My God, my portion, and my love,
My everlasting all!
I’ve none but thee in heav’n above,
Or on this earthly ball.

What empty things are all the skies,
And this inferior clod!
There’s nothing here deserves my joys,
There’s nothing like my God.

In vain the bright, the burning sun
Scatters his feeble light;
‘Tis thy sweet beams create my noon;
If thou withdraw, ’tis night.

And whilst upon my restless bed,
Amongst the shades I roll,
If my Redeemer shows his head,
‘Tis morning with my soul.

To thee we owe our wealth, and friends,
And health, and safe abode:
Thanks to thy name for meaner things,
But they are not my God.

How vain a toy is glitt’ring wealth,
If once compared to thee!
Or what’s my safety, or my health,
Or all my friends to me?

Were I possessor of the earth,
And called the stars my own,
Without thy graces and thyself
I were a wretch undone.

Let others stretch their arms like seas
And grasp in all the shore,
Grant me the visits of thy face,
And I desire no more.

– Isaac Watts

Raise Thee, My Soul

November 2, 2012

Raise thee, my soul, fly up, and run
Through every heav’nly street,
And say, there’s naught below the sun
That’s worthy of thy feet.

Thus will we mount on sacred wings,
And tread the courts above;
Nor earth, nor all her mightiest things,
Shall tempt our meanest love.

There on a high majestic throne
Th’ Almighty Father reigns,
And sheds his glorious goodness down
On all the blissful plains.

Bright like a sun the Saviour sits,
And spreads eternal noon;
No evenings there, nor gloomy nights,
To want the feeble moon.

Amidst those ever-shining skies,
Behold the sacred Dove!
While banished sin and sorrow flies
From all the realms of love.

The glorious tenants of the place
Stand bending round the throne;
And saints and seraphs sing and praise
The infinite Three One.

But O! what beams of heav’nly grace
Transport them all the while
Ten thousand smiles from Jesus’ face,
And love in every smile!

Jesus! and when shall that dear day,
That joyful hour, appear,
When I shall leave this house of clay,
To dwell amongst them there?

– Isaac Watts