| Text: | Your harps, ye trembling saints |
| Author: | Toplady |
1 Your harps, ye trembling saints,
Down from the willows take;
Loud, to the praise of love divine,
Bid every string awake.
2 Though in a foreign land,
We are not far from home;
And nearer to our house above
We every moment come.
3 His grace will to the end
Stronger and brighter shine;
Nor present things, nor things to come,
Shall quench the spark divine.
| Text Information | |
|---|---|
| First Line: | Your harps, ye trembling saints |
| Author: | Toplady |
| Meter: | S. M. |
| Publication Date: | 1873 |
| Scripture: | ; ; ; ; |
| Topic: | General Praise; Encouragement |
| Notes: | Public Domain. |