Raise thee, my soul, fly up, and run
Through every heav'nly street,
And say, there's naught below the sun
That's worthy of thy feet.
[Thus will we mount on sacred wings,
And tread the courts above;
Nor earth, nor all her mightiest things,
Shall tempt our meanest love.]
There on a high majestic throne
Th' Almighty Father reigns,
And sheds his glorious goodness down
On all the blissful plains.
Bright like a sun the Savior sits,
And spreads eternal noon;
No evenings there, nor gloomy nights,
To want the feeble moon.
Amidst those ever-shining skies,
Behold the sacred Dove!
While banished sin and sorrow flies
From all the realms of love.
The glorious tenants of the place
Stand bending round the throne;
And saints and seraphs sing and praise
The infinite Three One.
[But O! what beams of heav'nly grace
Transport them all the while
Ten thousand smiles from Jesus' face,
And love in every smile!]
Jesus! and when shall that dear day,
That joyful hour, appear,
When I shall leave this house of clay,
To dwell amongst them there?
The Psalms and Hymns of Isaac Watts, 1806