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1 Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,
From strife and tumult far;
From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war.
2 The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree,
And seem by Thy sweet bounty made
For those who follow Thee.
3 There, if Thy Spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode,
Oh with what peace, and joy, and love,
She holds discourse with God!
4 There, like the nightingale she pours
Her solitary lays;
Nor asks a witness of her song,
Nor thirsts for human praise.
5 Author and Guardian of my life!
Sweet Source of light divine,
And--all harmonious names in one--
My Saviour! Thou art mine!
6 What thanks I owe Thee, and what love!
A boundless, endless store
Shall echo through the realms above,
When time shall be no more.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Far from the world, O Lord, I flee |
Meter: | C. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1867 |
Topic: | Private Devotion |