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'Tis folly all - let me no more be told

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #1 (1800) Person Name: Madame Guyon First Line: "Tis folly all" let me no more be told Lyrics: 'Tis folly all—let me no more be told Of Parian porticos, and roofs of gold; Delightful views of nature, dressed by art, Enchant no longer this indifferent heart; The Lord of all things, in his humble birth, Makes mean the proud magnificence of earth; The straw, the manger, and the mouldering wall, Eclipse its lustre; and I scorn it all. Canals, and fountains, and delicious vales, Green slopes and plains, whose plenty never fails; Deep–rooted groves, whose heads sublimely rise, Earth–born, and yet ambitious of the skies; The abundant foliage of whose gloomy shades, Vainly the sun in all its power invades; Where warbled airs of sprightly birds resound, Whose verdure lives while Winter scowls around; Rocks, lofty mountains, caverns dark and deep, And torrents raving down the rugged steep; Smooth downs, whose fragrant herbs the spirits cheer; Meads crowned with flowers; streams musical and clear, Whose silver waters, and whose murmurs, join Their artless charms, to make the scene divine; The fruitful vineyard, and the furrowed plain, That seems a rolling sea of golden grain: All, all have lost the charms they once possessed; An infant God reigns sovereign in my breast; From Bethlehem's bosom I no more will rove; There dwells the Saviour, and there rests my love. Ye mightier rivers, that, with sounding force, Urge down the valleys your impetuous course! Winds, clouds, and lightnings! and, ye waves, whose heads, Curled into monstrous forms, the seaman dreads! Horrid abyss, where all experience fails, Spread with the wreck of planks and shattered sails; On whose broad back grim Death triumphant rides, While havoc floats on all thy swelling tides, Thy shores a scene of ruin strewed around With vessels bulged, and bodies of the drowned! Ye fish, that sport beneath the boundless waves, And rest, secure from man, in rocky caves; Swift–darting sharks, and whales of hideous size, Whom all the aquatic world with terror eyes! Had I but faith immoveable and true, I might defy the fiercest storm, like you: The world, a more disturbed and boisterous sea, When Jesus shows a smile, affrights not me; He hides me, and in vain the billows roar, Break harmless at my feet, and leave the shore. Thou azure vault where, through the gloom of night, Thick sown, we see such countless worlds of light! Thou moon, whose car, encompassing the skies, Restores lost nature to our wondering eyes; Again retiring, when the brighter sun Begins the course he seems in haste to run! Behold him where he shines! His rapid rays, Themselves unmeasured, measure all our days; Nothing impedes the race he would pursue, Nothing escapes his penetrating view, A thousand lands confess his quickening heat, And all he cheers are fruitful, fair, and sweet. Far from enjoying what these scenes disclose, I feel the thorn, alas! but miss the rose: Too well I know this aching heart requires More solid gold to fill its vast desires; In vain they represent his matchless might, Who called them out of deep primeval night; Their form and beauty but augment my woe, I seek the Giver of those charms they show: Nor, Him beside, throughout the world he made, Lives there in whom I trust for cure or aid. Infinite God, thou great unrivalled One! Whose glory makes a blot of yonder sun; Compared with thine, how dim his beauty seems, How quenched the radiance of his golden beams! Thou art my bliss, the light by which I move; In thee alone dwells all that I can love. All darkness flies when thou art pleased to appear, A sudden spring renews the fading year; Where'er I turn I see thy power and grace The watchful guardians of our heedless race; Thy various creatures in one strain agree, All, in all times and places, speak of thee; E'en I, with trembling heart and stammering tongue, Attempt thy praise, and join the general song. Almighty Former of this wondrous plan, Faintly reflected in thine image, man— Holy and just—the greatness of whose name Fills and supports this universal frame, Diffused throughout the infinitude of space, Who art thyself thine own vast dwelling–place; Soul of our soul, whom yet no sense of ours Discerns, eluding our most active powers; Encircling shades attend thine awful throne, That veil thy face, and keep thee still unknown; Unknown, though dwelling in our inmost part, Lord of the thoughts, and Sovereign of the heart! Repeat the charming truth that never tires, No God is like the God my soul desires; He at whose voice heaven trembles, even He, Great as he is, knows how to stoop to me— Lo! there he lies—that smiling infant said, “Heaven, earth, and sea, exist!”—and they obeyed. E'en he, whose being swells beyond the skies, Is born of woman, lives, and mourns, and dies; Eternal and immortal, seems to cast That glory from his brows, and breathes his last. Trivial and vain the works that man has wrought, How do they shrink and vanish at the thought! Sweet solitude, and scene of my repose! This rustic sight assuages all my woes— That crib contains the Lord, whom I adore; And earth's a shade that I pursue no more. He is my firm support, my rock, my tower, I dwell secure beneath his sheltering power, And hold this mean retreat for ever dear, For all I love, my soul's delight is here. I see the Almighty swathed in infant bands, Tied helpless down the thunder–bearer's hands! And, in this shed, that mystery discern, Which faith and love, and they alone, can learn. Ye tempests, spare the slumbers of your Lord! Ye zephyrs, all your whispered sweets afford! Confess the God, that guides the rolling year; Heaven, do him homage; and thou, earth, revere! Ye shepherds, monarchs, sages, hither bring Your hearts an offering, and adore your King! Pure be those hearts, and rich in faith and love; Join, in his praise, the harmonious world above; To Bethlehem haste, rejoice in his repose, And praise him there for all that he bestows! Man, busy man, alas! can ill afford To obey the summons, and attend the Lord; Perverted reason revels and runs wild, By glittering shows of pomp and wealth beguiled; And, blind to genuine excellence and grace, Finds not her author in so mean a place. Ye unbelieving! learn a wiser part, Distrust your erring sense, and search your heart; There soon ye shall perceive a kindling flame Glow for that infant God, from whom it came; Resist not, quench not, that divine desire, Melt all your adamant in heavenly fire! Not so will I requite thee, gentle love! Yielding and soft this heart shall ever prove; And every heart beneath thy power should fall, Glad to submit, could mine contain them all. But I am poor, oblation I have none, None for a Saviour, but himself alone: Whate'er I render thee, from thee it came: And, if I give my body to the flame, My patience, love, and energy divine Of heart, and soul, and spirit, all are thine. Ah, vain attempt to expunge the mighty score! The more I pay, I owe thee still the more. Upon my meanness, poverty, and guilt, The trophy of thy glory shall be built; My self–disdain shall be the unshaken base, And my deformity its fairest grace; For destitute of good, and rich in ill, Must be my state and my description still. And do I grieve at such an humbling lot? Nay, but I cherish and enjoy the thought— Vain pageantry and pomp of earth, adieu! I have no wish, no memory for you; The more I feel my misery, I adore The sacred inmate of my soul the more; Rich in his love, I feel my noblest pride Spring from the sense of having nought beside. In thee I find wealth, comfort, virtue, might; My wanderings prove thy wisdom infinite; All that I have I give thee; and then see All contrarieties unite in thee; For thou hast joined them, taking up our woe, And pouring out thy bliss on worms below, By filling with thy grace and love divine A gulf of evil in this heart of mine. This is, indeed, to bid the valleys rise, And the hills sink—'tis matching earth and skies; I feel my weakness, thank thee and deplore An aching heart, that throbs to thank thee more; The more I love thee, I the more reprove A soul so lifeless, and so slow to love; Till, on a deluge of thy mercy tossed, I plunge into that sea, and there am lost. Languages: English

Ye linnets, let us try, beneath this grove

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #2 (1800) Person Name: Madame Guyon Lyrics: Ye linnets, let us try, beneath this grove, Which shall be loudest in our Maker's praise! In quest of some forlorn retreat I rove, For all the world is blind, and wanders from his ways. That God alone should prop the sinking soul, Fills them with rage against his empire now: I traverse earth in vain from pole to pole, To seek one simple heart, set free from all below. They speak of love, yet little feel its sway, While in their bosom many an idol lurks; Their base desires, well satisfied, obey, Leave the Creator's hand, and lean upon his works. 'Tis therefore I can dwell with man no more; Your fellowship, ye warblers! suits me best: Pure love has lost its price, though prized of yore, Profaned by modern tongues, and slighted as a jest. My God, who formed you for his praise alone, Beholds his purpose well fulfilled in you; Come, let us join the choir before his throne, Partaking in his praise with spirits just and true. Yes, I will always love; and, as I ought, Tune to the praise of love my ceaseless voice; Preferring love too vast for human thought, In spite of erring men, who cavil at my choice. Why have I not a thousand thousand hearts, Lord of my soul! that they might all be thine? If thou approve—the zeal thy smile imparts, How should it ever fail! can such a fire decline? Love, pure and holy, is a deathless fire; Its object heavenly, it must ever blaze: Eternal love a God must needs inspire, When once he wins the heart, and fits it for his praise. Self–love dismissed—'tis then we live indeed— In her embrace, death, only death is found: Come, then, one noble effort, and succeed, Cast off the chain of self with which thy soul is bound. Oh! I could cry, that all the world might hear, Ye self–tormentors, love your God alone; Let his unequalled excellence be dear, Dear to your inmost souls, and make him all your own! They hear me not—alas! how fond to rove In endless chase of folly's specious lure! 'Tis here alone, beneath this shady grove, I taste the sweets of truth—here only am secure. Languages: English

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

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #3 (1800) Person Name: Madame Guyon 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

Ah! reign, wherever man is found!

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #4 (1800) Person Name: Madame Guyon 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

'Twas my purpose, on a day

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #5 (1800) Person Name: Madame Guyon Lyrics: 'Twas my purpose, on a day, To embark, and sail away. As I climbed the vessel's side, Love was sporting in the tide; “Come,” he said, “ascend—make haste, Launch into the boundless waste.” Many mariners were there, Having each his separate care; They that rowed us held their eyes Fixed upon the starry skies; Others steered, or turned the sails, To receive the shifting gales. Love, with power divine supplied, Suddenly my courage tried; In a moment it was night, Ship and skies were out of sight; On the briny wave I lay, Floating rushes all my stay. Did I with resentment burn At this unexpected turn? Did I wish myself on shore, Never to forsake it more? No—“My soul,” I cried, “be still; If I must be lost, I will.” Next he hastened to convey Both my frail supports away; Seized my rushes; bade the waves Yawn into a thousand graves: Down I went, and sunk as lead, Ocean closing o'er my head. Still, however, life was safe; And I saw him turn and laugh: “Friend,” he cried, “adieu! lie low, While the wintry storms shall blow; When the spring has calmed the main, You shall rise and float again.” Soon I saw him, with dismay, Spread his plumes, and soar away; Now I mark his rapid flight; Now he leaves my aching sight; He is gone whom I adore, 'Tis in vain to seek him more. How I trembled then and feared, When my love had disappeared! “Wilt thou leave me thus,” I cried, “Whelmed beneath the rolling tide?” Vain attempt to reach his ear! Love was gone, and would not hear. Ah! return, and love me still; See me subject to thy will; Frown with wrath, or smile with grace, Only let me see thy face! Evil I have none to fear, All is good, if thou art near. Yet he leaves me—cruel fate! Leaves me in my lost estate— Have I sinned? Oh, say wherein; Tell me, and forgive my sin! King, and Lord, whom I adore, Shall I see thy face no more? Be not angry; I resign, Henceforth, all my will to thine: I consent that thou depart, Though thine absence breaks my heart; Go then, and for ever too: All is right that thou wilt do. This was just what Love intended; He was now no more offended; Soon as I became a child, Love returned to me and smiled: Never strife shall more betide 'Twixt the bridegroom and his bride. Languages: English

There's not an echo round me

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #6 (1800) Person Name: Madame Guyon Lyrics: There's not an echo round me, But I am glad should learn, How pure a fire has found me, The love with which I burn. For none attends with pleasure To what I would reveal; They slight me out of measure, And laugh at all I feel. The rocks receive less proudly The story of my flame; When I approach, they loudly Reverberate his name. I speak to them of sadness, And comforts at a stand; They bid me look for gladness, And better days at hand. Far from all habitation, I heard a happy sound; Big with the consolation, That I have often found. I said, “My lot is sorrow, My grief has no alloy;” The rocks replied—“Tomorrow, Tomorrow brings thee joy.” These sweet and sacred tidings, What bliss it is to hear! For, spite of all my chidings, My weakness and my fear, No sooner I receive them, Than I forget my pain, And, happy to believe them, I love as much again. I fly to scenes romantic, Where never men resort; For in an age so frantic Impiety is sport. For riot and confusion They barter things above; Condemning, as delusion, The joy of perfect love. In this sequestered corner, None hears what I express; Delivered from the scorner, What peace do I possess! Beneath the boughs reclining, Or roving o'er the wild, I live as undesigning And harmless as a child. No troubles here surprise me, I innocently play, While Providence supplies me, And guards me all the day: My dear and kind defender Preserves me safely here, From men of pomp and splendour, Who fill a child with fear. Scripture: Luke 1:26-47 Languages: English

My Spouse! in whose presence I live

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #7 (1800) Person Name: Madame Guyon Lyrics: My Spouse! in whose presence I live, Sole object of all my desires, Who know'st what a flame I conceive, And canst easily double its fires! How pleasant is all that I meet! From fear of adversity free, I find even sorrow made sweet; Because 'tis assigned me by thee. Transported I see thee display Thy riches and glory divine; I have only my life to repay, Take what I would gladly resign. Thy will is the treasure I seek, For thou art as faithful as strong; There let me, obedient and meek, Repose myself all the day long. My spirit and faculties fail; Oh, finish what love has begun! Destroy what is sinful and frail, And dwell in the soul thou hast won! Dear theme of my wonder and praise, I cry, who is worthy as thou? I can only be silent and gaze! 'Tis all that is left to me now. Oh, glory in which I am lost, Too deep for the plummet of thought; On an ocean of Deity tossed, I am swallowed, I sink into nought. Yet, lost and absorbed as I seem, I chant to the praise of my King; And, though overwhelmed by the theme, Am happy whenever I sing. Languages: English

All are indebted much to thee

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #8 (1800) Person Name: Madame Guyon 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

My heart is easy, and my burden light

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #9 (1800) Person Name: Madame Guyon Lyrics: My heart is easy, and my burden light; I smile, though sad, when thou art in my sight: The more my woes in secret I deplore, I taste thy goodness, and I love thee more. There, while a solemn stillness reigns around, Faith, love, and hope within my soul abound; And, while the world suppose me lost in care, The joys of angels, unperceived, I share. Thy creatures wrong thee, O thou sovereign good! Thou art not loved, because not understood; This grieves me most, that vain pursuits beguile Ungrateful men, regardless of thy smile. Frail beauty and false honour are adored; While Thee they scorn, and trifle with thy Word; Pass, unconcerned, a Saviour's sorrows by; And hunt their ruin with a zeal to die. Languages: English

The fountain in its source

Author: Madame Guyon; William Cowper Hymnal: TFG #10 (1800) Person Name: Madame Guyon Lyrics: The fountain in its source, No drought of summer fears; The farther it pursues its course, The nobler it appears. But shallow cisterns yield A scanty short suply; The morning sees them amply filled, At evening they are dry. Languages: English