The presence of Christ is the life of my soul.
[How full of anguish is the thought,
How it distracts and tears my heart,
If God, at last, my sovereign Judge,
Should frown, and bid my soul |Depart!|]
Lord, when I quit this earthly stage,
Where shall I fly but to thy breast?
For I have sought no other home;
For I have learned no other rest.
I cannot live contented here
Without some glimpses of thy face;
And heav'n, without thy presence there,
Would be a dark and tiresome place.
When earthly cares engross the day,
And hold my thoughts aside from thee,
The shining hours of cheerful light
Are long and tedious years to me.
And if no evening visit's paid
Between my Savior and my soul,
How dull the night! how sad the shade!
How mournfully the minutes roll!
This flesh of mine might learn as soon
To live, yet part with all my blood;
To breathe when vital air is gone,
Or thrive and grow without my food.
[Christ is my light, my life, my care,
My blessed hope, my heav'nly prize;
Dearer than all my passions are,
My limbs, my bowels, or my eyes.]
[The strings that twine about my heart,
Tortures and racks may tear them off
But they can never, never part
With their dear hold of Christ my love.]
[My God! and can an humble child,
That loves thee with a flame so high,
Be ever from thy face exiled,
Without the pity of thine eye?
Impossible!-for thine own hands
Have tied my heart so fast to thee;
And in thy book the promise stands,
That where thou art thy friends must be.]