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Ah! reign, wherever man is found!

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #4 (1800) Lyrics: Ah! reign, wherever man is found! My spouse, beloved and divine! Then I am rich, and I abound, When every human heart is thine. A thousand sorrows pierce my soul, To think that all are not thine own: Ah! be adored from pole to pole; Where is thy zeal? arise; be known! All hearts are cold, in every place, Yet earthly good with warmth pursue; Dissolve them with a flash of grace, Thaw these of ice, and give us new! Languages: English

All are indebted much to thee

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #8 (1800) Lyrics: All are indebted much to thee, But I far more than all, From many a deadly snare set free, And raised from many a fall. Overwhelm me, from above, Daily, with thy boundless love. What bonds of gratitude I feel No language can declare; Beneath the oppressive weight I reel, 'Tis more than I can bear: When shall I that blessing prove, To return thee love for love? Spirit of charity, dispense Thy grace to every heart; Expel all other spirits thence, Drive self from every part; Charity divine, draw nigh, Break the chains in which we lie! All selfish souls, whate'er they feign, Have still a slavish lot; They boast of liberty in vain, Of love, and feel it not. He whose bosom glows with thee, He, and he alone, is free. Oh blessedness, all bliss above, When thy pure fires prevail! Love only teaches what is love: All other lessons fail: We learn its name, but not its powers, Experience only makes it ours. Languages: English

Blest! who, far from all mankind

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #18 (1800) Lyrics: Blest! who, far from all mankind This world's shadows left behind, Hears from heaven a gentle strain Whispering love, and loves again. Blest! who, free from self–esteem, Dives into the great Supreme. All desire beside discards, Joys inferior none regards. Blest! who in thy bosom seeks Rest that nothing earthly breaks, Dead to self and worldly things, Lost in thee, thou King of kings! Ye that know my secret fire, Softly speak and soon retire; Favour my divine repose, Spare the sleep a God bestows. Languages: English

From thorny wilds a monster came

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #20 (1800) Lyrics: From thorny wilds a monster came, That filled my soul with fear and shame; The birds, forgetful of their mirth, Drooped at the sight, and fell to earth; When thus a sage addressed mine ear, Himself unconscious of a fear: “Whence all this terror and surprise, Distracted looks and streaming eyes? Far from the world and its affairs, The joy it boasts, the pain it shares, Surrender, without guile or art, To God an undivided heart; The savage form, so feared before, Shall scare your trembling soul no more; For, loathsome as the sight may be, 'Tis but the love of self you see. Fix all your love on God alone, Choose but his will, and hate your own: No fear shall in your path be found, The dreary waste shall bloom around, And you, through all your happy days, Shall bless his name, and sing his praise.” Oh lovely solitude, how sweet The silence of this calm retreat! Here truth, the fair whom I pursue, Gives all her beauty to my view; The simple, unadorned display Charms every pain and fear away. O Truth, whom millions proudly slight; O Truth, my treasure and delight; Accept this tribute to thy name, And this poor heart from which it came! Languages: English

How happy are the new–born race

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #14 (1800) First Line: How happy are the new-born race Lyrics: How happy are the new–born race, Partakers of adopting grace! How pure the bliss they share! Hid from the world and all its eyes, Within their heart the blessing lies, And conscience feels it there. The moment we believe, 'tis ours; And if we love with all our powers The God from whom it came; And if we serve with hearts sincere, 'Tis still discernible and clear, An undisputed claim. But, ah! if foul and wilful sin Stain and dishonour us within, Farewell the joy we knew; Again the slaves of nature's sway, In labyrinths of our own we stray, Without a guide or clue. The chaste and pure, who fear to grieve The gracious Spirit they receive, His work distinctly trace; And, strong in undissembling love, Boldly assert and clearly prove Their hearts his dwelling–place. Oh, messenger of dear delight, Whose voice dispels the deepest night, Sweet peace–proclaiming Dove! With thee at hand, to soothe our pains, No wish unsatisfied remains, No task but that of love. 'Tis love unites what sin divides; The centre, where all bliss resides; To which the soul once brought, Reclining on the first great cause, From his abounding sweetness draws Peace passing human thought. Sorrow forgoes its nature there, And life assumes a tranquil air, Divested of its woes; There sovereign goodness soothes the breast, Till then incapable of rest, In sacred sure repose. Languages: English

I am fond of the swallow—I learn from her flight

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #3 (1800) First Line: I am fond of the swallow - I learn from her flight Lyrics: I am fond of the swallow—I learn from her flight, Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love: How seldom on earth do we see her alight! She dwells in the skies, she is ever above. It is on the wing that she takes her repose, Suspended and poised in the regions of air, 'Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows, It is winged like herself—'tis ethereal fare. She comes in the spring, all the summer she stays, And, dreading the cold, still follows the sun— So, true to our love, we should covet his rays, And the place where he shines not immediately shun. Our light should be love, and our nourishment prayer; It is dangerous food that we find upon earth; The fruit of this world is beset with a snare, In itself it is hurtful, as vile in its birth. 'Tis rarely, if ever, she settles below, And only when building a nest for her young; Were it not for her brood, she would never bestow A thought upon anything filthy as dung. Let us leave it ourselves ('tis a mortal abode), To bask every moment in infinite love; Let us fly the dark winter, and follow the road That leads to the dayspring appearing above. Languages: English

"I love the Lord," is still the strain

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #36 (1800) First Line: "I love the Lord" is still the strain Lyrics: “I love the Lord,” is still the strain This heart delights to sing: But I reply—your thoughts are vain, Perhaps 'tis no such thing. Before the power of love divine Creation fades away; Till only God is seen to shine In all that we survey. In gulfs of awful night we find The God of our desires; 'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind, And doubles all its fires. Flames of encircling love invest, And pierce it sweetly through; 'Tis filled with sacred joy, yet pressed With sacred sorrow too. Ah love! my heart is in the right— Amidst a thousand woes, To thee, its ever new delight, And all its peace it owes. Fresh causes of distress occur Where'er I look or move; The comforts I to all prefer Are solitude and love. Nor exile I nor prison fear; Love makes my courage great; I find a Saviour every where, His grace in every state. Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep, Exclude his quickening beams; There I can sit, and sing, and weep, And dwell on heavenly themes. There sorrow, for his sake, is found A joy beyond compare; There no presumptuous thoughts abound, No pride can enter there. A Saviour doubles all my joys, And sweetens all my pains, His strength in my defence employs, Consoles me and sustains. I fear no ill, resent no wrong; Nor feel a passion move, When malice whets her slanderous tongue; Such patience is in love. Languages: English

I place an offering at thy shrine

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #25 (1800) Lyrics: I place an offering at thy shrine, From taint and blemish clear, Simple and pure in its design, Of all that I hold dear. I yield thee back thy gifts again, Thy gifts which most I prize; Desirous only to retain The notice of thine eyes. But if, by thine adored decree, That blessing be denied; Resigned and unreluctant, see My every wish subside. Thy will in all things I approve, Exalted or cast down; Thy will in every state I love, And even in thy frown. Languages: English

I suffer fruitless anguish day by day

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #28 (1800) Lyrics: I suffer fruitless anguish day by day, Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain; Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray, And see no end of all that I sustain. The more I strive the more I am withstood; Anxiety increasing every hour My spirit finds no rest, performs no good, And nought remains of all my former power. My peace of heart is fled, I know not where; My happy hours, like shadows, passed away; Their sweet remembrance doubles all my care; Night darker seems, succeeding such a day. Dear faded joys and impotent regret, What profit is there in incessant tears? Oh thou, whom, once beheld, we ne'er forget, Reveal thy love, and banish all my fears! Alas! he flies me—treats me as his foe, Views not my sorrows, hears not when I plead; Woe such as mine, despised, neglected woe, Unless it shortens life, is vain indeed. Pierced with a thousand wounds, I yet survive; My pangs are keen, but no complaint transpires And, while in terrors of thy wrath I live, Hell seems to loose it less tremendous fires. Has hell a pain I would not gladly bear, So thy severe displeasure might subside? Hopeless of ease, I seem already there, My life extinguished, and yet death denied. Is this the joy so promised—this the love, The unchanging love, so sworn in better days? Ah! dangerous glories! shewn me, but to prove How lovely thou, and I how rash to gaze. Why did I see them? had I still remained Untaught, still ignorant how fair thou art, My humbler wishes I had soon obtained, Nor known the torments of a doubting heart. Deprived of all, yet feeling no desires, Whence then, I cry, the pangs that I sustain Dubious and uninformed, my soul inquires, Ought she to cherish or shake off her pain? Suffering, I suffer not—sincerely love, Yet feel no touch of that enlivening flame; As chance inclines me, unconcerned I move, All times, and all events, to me the same. I search my heart, and not a wish is there But burns with zeal that hated self may fall; Such is the sad disquietude I share, A sea of doubts, and self the source of all. I ask not life, nor do I wish to die; And, if thine hand accomplish not my cure, I would not purchase with a single sigh A free discharge from all that I endure. I groan in chains, yet want not a release; Am sick, and know not the distempered part; Am just as void of purpose as of peace; Have neither plan, nor fear, nor hope, nor heart. My claim to life, though sought with earnest care, No light within me, or without me, shews; Once I had faith, but now in self–despair Find my chief cordial and my best repose. My soul is a forgotten thing; she sinks, Sinks and is lost, without a wish to rise; Feels an indifference she abhors, and thinks Her name erased for ever from the skies. Language affords not my distress a name,— Yet it is real and no sickly dream; 'Tis love inflicts it; though to feel that flame Is all I know of happiness supreme. When love departs, a chaos wide and vast, And dark as hell, is opened in the soul; When love returns, the gloomy scene is past, No tempests shake her, and no fears control. Then tell me why these ages of delay? Oh love, all–excellent, once more appear; Disperse the shades, and snatch me into day, From this abyss of night, these floods of fear! No—love is angry, will not now endure A sigh of mine, or suffer a complaint; He smites me, wounds me, and withholds the cure; Exhausts my powers, and leaves me sick and faint. He wounds, and hides the hand that gave the blow; He flies, he re–appears, and wounds again— Was ever heart that loved thee treated so? Yet I adore thee, though it seem in vain. And wilt thou leave me, whom, when lost and blind, Thou didst distinguish and vouchsafe to choose, Before thy laws were written in my mind, While yet the world had all my thoughts and views? Now leave me, when, enamoured of thy laws, I make thy glory my supreme delight? Now blot me from thy register, and cause A faithful soul to perish from thy sight? What can have caused the change which I deplore? Is it to prove me, if my heart be true? Permit me then, while prostrate I adore, To draw, and place its picture in thy view. 'Tis thine without reserve, most simply thine; So given to thee, that it is not my own; A willing captive of thy grace divine; And loves, and seeks thee, for thyself alone. Pain cannot move it, danger cannot scare; Pleasure and wealth, in its esteem, are dust; It loves thee, e'en when least inclined to spare Its tenderest feelings, and avows thee just. 'Tis all thine own; my spirit is so too, An undivided offering at thy shrine; It seeks thy glory with no double view, Thy glory, with no secret bent to mine. Love, holy love! and art thou not severe, To slight me, thus devoted, and thus fixed? Mine is an everlasting ardour, clear From all self–bias, generous and unmixed. But I am silent, seeing what I see— And fear, with cause, that I am self–deceived, Not e'en my faith is from suspicion free, And that I love seems not to be believed. Live thou, and reign for ever, glorious Lord! My last, least offering I present thee now— Renounce me, leave me, and be still adored! Slay me, my God, and I applaud the blow. Languages: English

In vain ye woo me to your harmless joys

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #22 (1800) Lyrics: In vain ye woo me to your harmless joys, Ye pleasant bowers, remote from strife and noise; Your shades, the witnesses of many a vow, Breathed forth in happier days, are irksome now; Denied that smile 'twas once my heaven to see, Such scenes, such pleasures, are all past with me. In vain he leaves me, I shall love him still; And, though I mourn, not murmur at his will; I have no cause—an object all divine, Might well grow weary of a soul like mine; Yet pity me, great God! forlorn, alone, Heartless and hopeless, life and love all gone. Languages: English