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1 Raise thee, my soul, fly up, and run
Thro' ev'ry heav'nly street,
And say, There's naught below the sun
That's worthy of thy feet.
2 [Thus will we mount on sacred wings,
And tread the courts above;
Nor earth, nor all her mightiest things
Shall tempt our meanest love.]
3 There on a high majestic throne
Th' Almighty Father reigns,
And sheds his glorious goodness down
On all the blissful plains.
4 Bright like a sun, the Saviour sits,
And spreads eternal noon;
No ev'nings there, nor gloomy nights,
To want the feeble moon.
5 Amidst those ever-shining skies
Behold the sacred Dove,
While banish'd sin and sorrow flies
From all the realms of love.
6 The glorious tenants of the place
Stand bending round the throne;
And saints and seraphs sing and praise
The infinite Three-One.
7 [But O what beams of heav'nly grace
Transport them all the while!
Ten thousand smiles from Jesus' face,
And love in ev'ry smile!]
8 Jesus! O when shall that dear day,
That joyful hour appear,
When I shall leave this house of clay,
To dwell amongst them there?
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Raise thee, my soul, fly up, and run |
Title: | The blessed society in heaven |
Meter: | C. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1793 |