The Joy of the Cross
VOL. 3, C ANTIQUE 97
Long plung'd in sorrow, I resign
My soul to that dear hand of thine,
Without reserve or fear;
That hand shall wipe my streaming eyes;
Or into smiles of glad surprise
Transform the falling tear.
My sole possession is thy Love;
In earth beneath, or heav'n above,
I have no other store;
And though with fervent suit I pray,
And importune thee night and day,
I ask thee nothing more.
My rapid hours pursue the course
Prescrib'd them by love's sweetest force;
And I, thy sov'reign Will,
Without a wish t' escape my doom;
Though still a suff'rer from the womb,
And doom'd to suffer still.
By thy command, where'er I stray,
Sorrow attends me all my way,
A never-failing friend;
And if my suff'rings may augment
Thy praise, behold me well content —
Let sorrow still attend!
It costs me no regret, that she,
Who follow'd Christ, should follow me;
And though, where'er she goes,
Thorns spring spontaneous at her feet,
I love her, and extract a sweet
From all my bitter woes.
Adieu! ye vain delights of earth;
Insipid sports, and childish mirth,
I taste no sweets in you;
Unknown delights are in the Cross,
All joy beside, to me is dross;
And Jesus thought so too.
The Cross! Oh ravishment and oliss —
How grateful ev'n its anguish is;
Its bitterness, how sweet!
There ev'ry sense, and all the mind,
In all her faculties refin'd,
Tastes happiness complete.
Souls once enabled to disdain
Base sublunary joys, maintain
Their dignity secure;
The fever of desire is pass'd,
And Love has all its genuine taste,
Is delicate and pure.
Self-love no grace in sorrow sees,
Consults her own peculiar ease;
'Tis all the bliss she knows:
But nobler aims true Love employ;
In self-denial is her joy,
In suff'ring her repose.
Sorrow, and Love, go side by side;
Nor height, nor depth, can e'er divide
Their heav'n-appointed bands;
Those dear associates still are one,
Nor, till the race of life is run,
Disjoin their wedded hands.
Jesus, avenger of our Fall,
Thou faithful Lover, above all
The Cross has ever borne!
Oh tell me, — Life is in thy voice —
How much afflictions were thy choice,
And sloth and ease thy scorn!
Thy choice, and mine, shall be the same;
Inspirer of that holy flame,
Which must forever blaze!
To take the Cross, and follow thee,
Where love and duty lead, shall be
My portion, and my praise.
Long plung'd in sorrow, I resign
My soul to that dear hand of thine,
Without reserve or fear;
That hand shall wipe my streaming eyes;
Or into smiles of glad surprise
Transform the falling tear.
My sole possession is thy Love;
In earth beneath, or heav'n above,
I have no other store;
And though with fervent suit I pray,
And importune thee night and day,
I ask thee nothing more.
My rapid hours pursue the course
Prescrib'd them by love's sweetest force;
And I, thy sov'reign Will,
Without a wish t' escape my doom;
Though still a suff'rer from the womb,
And doom'd to suffer still.
By thy command, where'er I stray,
Sorrow attends me all my way,
A never-failing friend;
And if my suff'rings may augment
Thy praise, behold me well content —
Let sorrow still attend!
It costs me no regret, that she,
Who follow'd Christ, should follow me;
And though, where'er she goes,
Thorns spring spontaneous at her feet,
I love her, and extract a sweet
From all my bitter woes.
Adieu! ye vain delights of earth;
Insipid sports, and childish mirth,
I taste no sweets in you;
Unknown delights are in the Cross,
All joy beside, to me is dross;
And Jesus thought so too.
The Cross! Oh ravishment and oliss —
How grateful ev'n its anguish is;
Its bitterness, how sweet!
There ev'ry sense, and all the mind,
In all her faculties refin'd,
Tastes happiness complete.
Souls once enabled to disdain
Base sublunary joys, maintain
Their dignity secure;
The fever of desire is pass'd,
And Love has all its genuine taste,
Is delicate and pure.
Self-love no grace in sorrow sees,
Consults her own peculiar ease;
'Tis all the bliss she knows:
But nobler aims true Love employ;
In self-denial is her joy,
In suff'ring her repose.
Sorrow, and Love, go side by side;
Nor height, nor depth, can e'er divide
Their heav'n-appointed bands;
Those dear associates still are one,
Nor, till the race of life is run,
Disjoin their wedded hands.
Jesus, avenger of our Fall,
Thou faithful Lover, above all
The Cross has ever borne!
Oh tell me, — Life is in thy voice —
How much afflictions were thy choice,
And sloth and ease thy scorn!
Thy choice, and mine, shall be the same;
Inspirer of that holy flame,
Which must forever blaze!
To take the Cross, and follow thee,
Where love and duty lead, shall be
My portion, and my praise.
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