1 [Hark, the Redeemer from on high
Sweetly invites his favourites nigh;
From caves of darkness and of doubt,
He gently speaks, and calls us out:
2 |My dove, who hidest in the rock,
|Thine heart almost with sorrow broke,
|Lift up thy face, forget thy fear,
|And let thy voice delight mine ear.
3 |Thy voice to me sounds ever sweet;
|My graces in thy countenance meet;
|Tho' the vain world thy face despise,
|'Tis bright and comely in mine eyes.|
4 Dear Lord, our thankful heart receives
The hope thine invitation gives:
'To thee our joyful lips shall raise
The voice of prayer, and of praise.]
5 [I am my Love's, and he is mine;
Our hearts, our hopes, our passions join:
Nor let a motion, nor a word,
Nor thought arise to grieve my Lord.
6 My soul to pastures fair he leads,
Amongst the lilies where he feeds;
Amongst the saints (whose robes are white,
Wash'd in his blood) is his delight.
7 Till the day break, and shadows flee,
Till the sweet dawning light I see,
Thine eyes to me-ward often turn,
Nor let my soul in darkness mourn.
8 Be like a hart on mountains green,
Leap o'er the hills of fear and sin;
Nor guilt, nor unbelief divide
My Love, my Saviour from my side.]