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1 Come lead me to some lofty shade
Where turtles moan their loves;
Tall shadows were for lovers made;
And grief becomes the groves.
2 ’Tis no mean beauty of the ground
That has enslaved mine eyes;
I faint beneath a nobler wound,
Nor love below the skies.
3 Jesus, the spring of all that’s bright,
The everlasting fair,
Heav’n’s ornament, and Heav’n’s delight,
Is my eternal care.
4 But ah! how far above this grove
Does the bright charmer dwell!
Absence, thou keenest wound to love,
That sharpest pain, I feel.
5 Pensive I climb the sacred hills,
And near Him vent my woes;
Yet His sweet face He still conceals,
Yet still my passion grows.
6 I murmur to the hollow vale,
I tell the rocks my flame,
And bless the echo in her cell
That best repeats His name.
7 My passion breathes perpetual sighs,
Till pitying winds shall hear,
And gently bear them up the skies,
And gently wound His ear.
Source: The Cyber Hymnal #10207