C. M. The humble worship of heaven. Father, I long, I faint to see The place of thine abode; I'd leave thine earthly courts, and flee Up to thy seat, my God! Here I behold thy distant face, And 'tis a pleasing sight; But to abide in thine embrace Is infinite delight. I'd part with all the joys of sense To gaze upon thy throne; Pleasure springs fresh for ever thence, Unspeakable, unknown. [There all the heav'nly hosts are seen, In shining ranks they move, And drink immortal vigor in With wonder and with love. Then at thy feet with awful fear Th' adoring armies fall; With joy they shrink to nothing there, Before th' eternal All. There I would vie with all the host In duty and in bliss; While "less than nothing" I could boast, And "vanity confess."] The more thy glories strike mine eyes The humbler I shall lie; Thus while I sink, my joys shall rise Unmeasurably high. |